THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


HARBOR  MASTER 


WORKS  OF 

Theodore   Goodridge   Roberts 

-*•- 

j4  Captain  of  Raleigh'*  .  .  .  $1.50 

j4  Cavalier  of  Virginia  ...  1.50 

Captain  Lode 1 .50 

Brothers  of  'Peril 7.50 

Hemming,  ihe  Adventurer  .  .  .  7.50 
T^ayton  :  Jl  fQac^wooJt  Mystery 

SV>/  $7.25.  'Postpaid  1.38 
The  Harbor  Master 

&C't  $1.25,  'Postpaid  1.38 


FOR  YOUNGER  'REAVERS 

Comrades  of  the  Trails       .     .      .  7.50 

'Che  Red  Feathers    .....  7.50 

Flying  Plover     ......  7.00 


L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

53  Beacon  Street,  Boston,  Mass. 


THE  DOOR  FLEW  OPEN  ABOVE  HIS  UPTURNED  FACE 

(See  page  296) 


THE  HARBOR 
MASTER 


THEODORE  GOODRIDGE  ROBERTS 

Author  of  "  l^ayton:  Jl  {Backwoods  JXCystery,"  "  Jl  Captain  of 
T^aleigh '»,"  "  Comrades  of  the  trails,  "  "  *7£eJ  Feathers. ' '  etc. 


With  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a  painting  by 

JOHN  GOSS 


BOSTON     <*>     L.    C.    PAGE    & 

COMPANY    <*>    MCDCCCCXIII 


Copyright,  1911 
BY  STREET  &  SMITH 

Copyright,  1913 
BY  L.  C.  PAGE  &  COMPANY 

(INCORPORATED) 
All  rights  reserved 


First  Impression,  January,  1913 


THE  COLONIAL  PRESS 
C.  H.  8IMONDS  &  CO.,  BOSTON,  U.  S.  A. 


The  English  edition  of 
this  book  is  entitled  "  The 
Toll  of  the  Tides,"  but 
the  American  publishers 
have  preferred  to  retain  the 
author's  original  title,  "  The 
Harbor  Master." 


1521132 


CONTENTS 


I.  BLACK  DENNIS  NOLAN       .... 
II.  NOLAN  SHOWS  His  APTITUDE  FOR  COM- 
MAND     

III.  FOXEY  JACK  QUINN  SLIPS  AWAY 

IV.  DEAD  MAN'S  DIAMONDS      .... 
V.  FATHER  MCQUEEN  VISITS  His  FLOCK     . 

VI.  THE  GIRL  FROM  THE  CROSS  -  TREES 
VII.  THE  GOLD  OF  THE  "  ROYAL  WILLIAM  "  . 
VIII.  THE    SKIPPER   STRUGGLES   AGAINST    SU- 
PERSTITION   

DC.    SOME  EARLY  VISITS 

X.    MARY  KAVANAGH 

XI.  THE  SKIPPER  CARRIES  A  LETTER     . 

XII.  DICK  LYNCH  GOES  ON  THE  WAR  -  PATH   . 

XIII.  BILL  BRENNEN  PREACHES  LOYALTY 

XIV.  DICK  LYNCH  MEETS  MR.  DARLING 
XV.  MR.  DARLING  SETS  OUT  ON  A  JOURNEY 

XVI.  MR.     DARLING     ARRIVES     IN     CHANCE 

ALONG  

XVII.  MARY  KAVANAGH  USES  HER  WITS  . 

XVIII.  MOTHER  NOLAN  DOES  SOME  SPYING 

XIX.  MARY  AT  WORK  AGAIN      .... 

XX.  FATHER  MCQUEEN'S  RETURN    . 


PAGE 

I 

19 
36 

54 

64 

86 

101 

"5 
135 
147 

164 
181 
194 

210 

225 

235 
250 
265 

279 
292 


THE 
HARBOR    MASTER 


CHAPTER    I 

BLACK   DENNIS    NOLAN 

AT  the  back  of  a  deep  cleft  in  the  formidable 
cliffs,  somewhere  between  Cape  Race  to  the  south- 
ward and  St.  John's  to  the  northward,  hides  the 
little  hamlet  of  Chance  Along.  As  to  its  geograph- 
ical position,  this  is  sufficient.  In  the  green  sea  in 
front  of  the  cleft,  and  almost  closing  the  mouth  of 
it,  lie  a  number  of  great  boulders,  as  if  the  breech 
in  the  solid  cliff  had  been  made  by  some  giant  force 
that  had  broken  and  dragged  forth  the  primeval 
rock,  only  to  leave  the  refuse  of  its  toil  to  lie  for- 
ever in  the  edge  of  the  tide,  to  fret  the  gnawing 
currents.  At  low  tide  a  narrow  strip  of  black 
shingle  shows  between  the  nearer  of  these  titanic 
fragments  and  the  face  of  the  cliff.  The  force 

1 


2  The  Harbor  Master 

has  been  at  work  at  other  points  of  the  coast  as 
well.  A  mile  or  so  to  the  north  it  has  broken  down 
and  scattered  seaward  a  great  section  of  the  cliff, 
scarring  the  water  with  a  hundred  jagged  menaces 
to  navigation,  and  leaving  behind  it  a  torn  sea  front 
and  a  wide,  uneven  beach.  About  three  miles  to 
the  south  of  the  little,  hidden  village  it  has  wrought 
similar  havoc,  long  forgotten  ages  ago. 

Along  this  coast,  for  many  miles,  treacherous 
currents  race  and  shift  continually,  swinging  in 
from  the  open  sea,  creeping  along  from  the  north, 
slanting  in  from  the  southeast  and  snarling  up 
(but  their  snarling  is  hidden  far  below  the  surface) 
from  the  tide-vexed,  storm-worn  prow  of  old  Cape 
Race.  The  pull  and  drift  of  many  of  these  cur- 
rents are  felt  far  out  from  land,  and  they  cannot 
be  charted  because  of  their  shif tings,  and  their 
shiftings  cannot  be  calculated  with  any  degree  of 
accuracy,  because  they  seem  to  be  without  system 
or  law.  These  are  dangerous  waters  even  now; 
and  before  the  safeguard  of  a  strong  light  on  the 
cape,  in  the  days  when  ships  were  helplessly  dragged 
by  the  sea  when  there  was  no  wind  to  drive  them 
—  in  the  days  before  a  "  lee-shore  "  had  ceased  to 
be  an  actual  peril  to  become  a  picturesque  phrase 


Black  Dennis  Nolan  3 

in  nautical  parlance  —  they  constituted  one  of  the 
most  notorious  disaster-zones  of  the  North  At- 
lantic. 

We  are  told,  as  were  our  fathers  before  us,  that 
one  man's  poison  may  be  another  man's  meat,  and 
that  it  is  an  ill  wind  indeed  that  does  not  blow 
an  advantage  to  somebody.  The  fundamental 
truths  of  these  ancient  saws  were  fully  realized  by 
the  people  of  Chance  Along.  Ships  went  down 
in  battered  fragments  to  their  clashing  sea-graves, 
which  was  bad,  Heaven  knows,  for  the  crews  and 
the  owners  —  but  ashore,  stalwart  and  gratified 
folk  who  had  noted  the  storms  and  the  tides  ate 
well  and  drank  deep  and  went  warmly  clad,  who 
might  otherwise  have  felt  the  gnawing  of  hunger 
and  the  nip  of  the  wind. 

The  people  of  Chance  Along,  with  but  a  few  ex- 
ceptions, were  Nolans,  Lynches,  Learys  and  Bren- 
nens.  Their  forebears  had  settled  at  the  back  of  the 
cleft  in  the  cliff  a  hundred  years  or  more  before 
the  time  of  this  history.  They  had  been  at  the 
beginning,  and  still  were,  ignorant  and  primitive 
folk.  Fishing  in  the  treacherous  sea  beyond  their 
sheltered  retreat  had  been  their  occupation  for  sev- 
eral generations,  brightened  and  diversified  occa- 


The  Harbor  Master 


sionally  by  a  gathering  of  the  fruits  of  storm.  It 
was  not  until  Black  Dennis  Nolan's  time,  however, 
that  the  community  discovered  that  the  offerings  of 
the  sea  were  sufficient  —  aye,  more  than  sufficient 

—  for  their  needs.     This  discovery  might  easily 
have  been  made  by  others  than  Black  Dennis  Nolan ; 
but   it   required  this   man's   daring  ingenuity   and 
powers  of  command  to  make  it  possible  to  profit 
by  the  discovery. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  was  but  little  more  than  a 
lad  when  he  commenced  the  formidable  task  of  con- 
verting a  poverty-stricken  community  of  cod-fishers 
into  a  band  of  daring,  cunning,  unscrupulous  wreck- 
ers. He  possessed  a  dominating  character,  even  in 
those  days,  and  his  father  had  left  him  a  small  fore- 
and-aft  schooner,  a  store  well-stocked  with  hand- 
lines,  provisions  and  gear,  and  a  record  chalked  up 
on  the  inside  of  the  door  which  showed,  by  signs 
and  formulas  unintelligible  to  the  stranger,  every 
man  in  the  harbor  to  be  in  his  debt  for  flour,  tea, 
molasses,  tobacco  and  several  other  necessities  of 
life.  So  Black  Dennis  Nolan  was  in  a  position, 
from  the  very  first,  to  force  the  other  men  of  the 
place  to  conform  to  his  plans  and  obey  his  orders 

—  more  or  less. 


Black  Dennis  Nolan 


For  a  time  there  were  doubters  and  grumblers, 
old  men  who  wagged  their  heads,  and  young  men 
who  sneered  covertly  or  jeered  openly;  and  later, 
as  the  rule  of  Dennis  became  absolute  and  some- 
what tyrannical  and  the  hand  of  Dennis  heavy  upon 
men  of  independent  ways  of  thought,  there  were 
insurrections  and  mutinies.  But  Black  Dennis 
Nolan  was  equal  to  every  difficulty,  even  from  the 
beginning.  Doubters  were  convinced  that  he  saw 
clearer  than  they,  grumblers  were  satisfied,  young 
men  who  jeered  openly  were  beaten  into  submission 
with  whatever  weapon  came  most  conveniently  to 
hand.  Dennis  was  big,  agile,  and  absolutely  fear- 
less, and  when  he  dealt  a  blow  with  an  oar,  a  skiff's 
thwart,  or  a  pole  from  a  drying-stage,  a  second 
effort  was  seldom  required  against  the  same  jeerer. 
Once  or  twice,  of  course,  he  had  to  hit  many  times 
and  was  compelled  to  accept  some  painful  strokes 
in  return.  One  or  two  of  these  encounters  are 
worthy  of  treatment  in  detail,  if  only  to  show  some- 
thing of  the  natures  of  Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  his 
companions. 

Immediately  after  his  father's  untimely  death 
(the  poor  man  was  carried  out  to  sea  on  a  small 
pan  of  ice,  while  engaged  in  killing  seals  off  the 


6  The  Harbor  Master 

mouth  of  the  harbor,  in  the  spring  of  the  year), 
Black  Dennis  was  addressed  by  the  title  of  "  Skip- 
per." The  title  and  position  became  his,  without 
question,  along  with  his  unfortunate  father's 
schooner,  store,  and  list  of  bad  debts.  The  new 
skipper's  first  move  towards  realizing  his  dreams 
of  affluence  and  power  was  to  build  a  small  hut  of 
stones,  poles,  and  sods  both  at  the  place  of  the. 
broken  cliff  a  mile  to  the  north  of  Chance  Along, 
and  at  the  place  of  similar  physical  character  three 
miles  to  the  southward.  It  was  winter  at  the  time 
—  a  fine  season  for  wrecks,  but  an  uncomfortable 
season  for  spending  one's  nights  in  an  ill-made  hut, 
and  one's  days  on  the  brink  of  a  cliff,  without  com- 
panionship, gazing  seaward  through  a  heavy  tele- 
scope for  some  vessel  in  distress.  But  the  skipper 
had  made  his  plans  and  did  not  care  a  snap  of  his 
finger  for  discomforts  for  himself  or  his  friends. 
He  knew  that  out  of  every  ten  wrecks  that  took 
place  on  the  coast  within  twenty  miles  of  Chance 
Along,  not  more  than  one  profited  the  people  of  his 
harbor.  They  never  went  afield  in  search  of  the 
gifts  of  the  treacherous  sea.  They  took  what  they 
could  clutch  of  what  was  thrown  at  their  very  doors, 
even  then  letting  much  escape  them,  owing  to  lack 


Black  Dennis  Nolan 


of  science  and  organization.  The  new  skipper  meant 
to  alter  this  condition  of  things  —  and  he  knew 
that  the  waters  in  the  immediate  vicinity  of  Chance 
Along  were  neither  the  most  dangerous  on  the 
coast,  nor  the  most  convenient  for  the  salving  of 
wreckage  and  fast-drowning  cargoes.  So  he  estab- 
lished stations  at  Squid  Beach  to  the  northward, 
and  at  Nolan's  Cove  to  the  southward,  and  ordered 
Nick  Leary  and  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  to  take  up  their 
abode  in  the  new  huts;  Nick  at  Squid  Beach,  and 
Foxey  Jack  at  the  Cove,  had  to  keep  a  sharp  look- 
out for  ships  during  bad  weather  and  at  night. 
Should  either  of  them  remark  any  signs  of  a  vessel 
in  distress  he  was  to  return  to  Chance  Along  at 
top  speed,  and  report  the  same.  Nick  Leary  and 
Foxey  Jack  Quinn  were  older  men  than  the  skipper 
by  a  few  years,  and  the  fathers  of  families  —  of 
half-starved  families.  Nick  was  a  mild  lad;  but 
Foxey  Jack  had  a  temper  as  hot  as  his  hair. 

"  What  bes  yer  idee,  skipper?  "  asked  Nick. 

Dennis  explained  it  briefly,  having  outlined  his 
plans  several  times  before. 

"An'  how  long  does  we  have  to  stop  away?" 
asked  Nick. 

"  Five  days.    Yer  watch'll  be  five  days,  an'  then 


8  The  Harbor  Master 

I'll  be  sendin'  out  two  more  lads,"  replied  the  skip- 
per. 

Foxey  Jack  Quinn  stood,  without  a  word,  his 
vicious  face  twisted  with  a  scowling  sneer.  Both 
men  departed,  one  for  the  beach  to  the  north  and 
the  other  for  the  Cove  to  the  south,  each  carrying 
a  kettle  and  bag  of  provisions,  a  blanket  and  tar- 
nished spy-glass.  Black  Dennis  Nolan  turned  to 
other  work  connected  with  the  great  scheme  of 
transferring  the  activities  of  Chance  Along  from 
the  catching  of  fish  to  the  catching  of  maimed  and 
broken  ships.  He  set  some  of  the  old  men  and 
women  to  splicing  ropes,  stronger  and  more  active 
folk  to  drilling  a  hole  in  the  face  of  the  cliff,  near 
to  the  top  of  it  and  just  to  the  right  of  the  entrance 
to  the  narrow  harbor.  Others,  led  by  the  skipper 
himself,  set  to  work  at  drilling  holes  in  several  of 
the  great  rocks  that  lay  in  the  green  tide  beyond 
the  mouth  of  the  harbor,  their  heavy  crowns  lifting 
only  a  yard  or  two  above  the  surface  of  the  twisting 
currents.  All  this  was  but  the  beginning  of  a  task, 
that  would  require  weeks,  perhaps  months,  of  labor 
to  complete.  It  was  Black  Dennis  Nolan's  intention 
to  construct,  by  means  of  great  iron  rings,  bolts  and 
staples,  chain-cables,  hawsers  and  life-lines,  a  solid 


Black  Dennis  NoLan  9 

net  by  the  help  of  which  his  people  could  extend 
their  efforts  at  salving  the  valuables  from  a  fast- 
breaking  vessel  to  the  outermost  rock  of  that  dan- 
gerous archipelago,  even  at  the  height  of  a  storm  — 
with  luck.  In  the  past,  even  in  his  own  time,  sev- 
eral ships  bound  from  Northern  Europe  for  Que- 
bec had  been  driven  and  dragged  from  their  course, 
shattered  upon  those  rocks,  sucked  off  into  deep 
water,  and  lost  forever,  without  having  contributed 
so  much  as  a  bale  of  sail-cloth  to  the  people  of 
Chance  Along.  He  was  determined  that  cases  of 
this  kind  should  not  happen  in  the  future.  The  net 
was  to  be  so  arranged  that  the  greater  part  of 
it  could  be  removed,  and  the  balance  submerged, 
with  but  slight  effort,  and  later  all  returned  to  its 
working  condition  as  easily;  for  it  would  not  be 
well  to  draw  the  attention  of  outsiders  to  the  con- 
trivance. Wrecking,  in  those  days,  meant  more 
than  the  salvage  of  cargoes,  perhaps.  The  skipper 
hoped,  in  time  (should  the  experiment  prove  suc- 
cessful at  the  mouth  of  the  harbor),  to  rig  the 
dangerous  and  productive  archipelago  off  Squid 
Beach  and  Nolan's  Cove  with  similar  contrivances. 
There  was  not  another  man  in  Chance  Along 
capable  of  conceiving  such  ideas;  but  Dennis  was 


10  The  Harbor  Master 

ambitious  (in  his  crude  ^  way),  imaginative,  daring, 
unscrupulous  and  full  of  resources  and  energy. 

All  day  the  skipper  and  his  men  worked  stren- 
uously, and  at  break  of  dawn  on  the  morrow  they 
returned  to  their  toils.  By  noon  a  gigantic  iron 
hook,  forged  by  the  skipper  himself,  with  a  shank 
as  thick  as  a  strong  man's  arm  and  fully  four  feet 
long,  had  been  set  firmly  in  the  face  of  the  cliff. 
The  skipper  and  five  or  six  of  his  men  stood  at 
the  edge  of  the  barren,  above  the  cliff  and  the 
harbor,  wiping  the  sweat  from  their  faces.  Snow 
lay  in  patches  over  the  bleak  and  sodden  barren, 
a  raw  wind  beat  in  from  the  east,  and  a  gray  and 
white  sea  snarled  below. 

"  Boys,"  said  the  young  skipper,  "  I's  able  to  see 
ahead  to  the  day  whin  there'll  be  no  want  in  Chance 
Along,  but  the  want  we  pretends  to  fool  the  world 
wid.  Aye,  ye  may  take  Dennis  Nolan's  word  for 
it!  We'll  eat  an'  drink  full,  lads,  an'  sleep  warm 
as  any  marchant  i'  St.  John's." 

"  What  damn  foolery  has  ye  all  bin  at  now  ?  " 
inquired  a  sneering  voice. 

All  turned  and  beheld  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  stand- 
ing near  at  hand,  a  leer  on  his  wide  mouth  and 
in  his  pale  eyes,  and  his  nunney-bag  on  his  shoulder. 


Black  Dennis  Nolan  11 

His  skinnywoppers  (high-legged  moccasins  of  seal- 
skin, hair-side  inward)  were  glistening  with  mois- 
ture of  melted  snow,  and  his  face  was  red  from 
the  rasp  of  raw  wind.  He  looked  as  if  he  had 
slept  in  his  clothes  —  which  was,  undoubtedly,  the 
case.  He  glared  straight  at  the  skipper  with  a 
dancing  flame  of  devilment  in  his  eyes. 

"  What  ye  bin  all  a-doin'  now  for  to  make  extry 
work  for  yerselves?  "  he  asked. 

There  followed  a  brief  silence,  and  then  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  spoke  quietly. 

"  Why  bain't  ye  over  to  Squid  Beach,  standin' 
yer  trick  at  lookout  ?  "  he  inquired. 

Foxey  Jack's  answer  was  a  harsh,  jeering  laugh, 
and  words  to  the  effect  that  life  was  too  short  to 
spend  five  days  of  it  lonely  and  starving  with  cold, 
in  a  hut  not  fit  for  a  pig. 

'  Ye  kin  do  what  ye  likes,  yerself  —  ye  an'  them 
as  be  fools  like  yerself;  but  Jack  Quinn  bain't 
a-goin'  to  lend  a  hand  a  yer  foolishness,  Denny 
Nolan,"  he  concluded. 

"  Turn  round  an'  git  back  to  yer  post  wid  ye," 
said  the  skipper. 

;<  Who  be  ye,  an'  what  be  ye,  to  give  that  word 
to  me?" 


12  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Ye  knows  who  I  be.     Turn  round  an'  git !  " 
'  To  hell  wid  ye!    I  turns  round  for  no  man!  " 
"  Then  ye'd  best  drop  yer  nunney-bag,  ye  foxey- 
headed  fool,  for  I  bes  a-comin'  at  ye  to  larn  ye 
who  bes  skipper  here." 

Quinn  let  his  nunney-bag  fall  to  the  snow  be- 
hind him  —  and  in  the  same  instant  of  time  the 
skipper's  right  fist  landed  on  his  nose,  knocking 
him  backward  over  the  bag,  clear  off  his  feet,  and 
staining  his  red  whiskers  to  a  deeper  and  brighter 
red.  But  the  big  fellow  came  up  to  his  feet  again 
as  nimbly  as  a  cat.  For  a  moment  the  two  clinched 
and  swayed  in  each  other's  straining  arms,  like 
drunken  men.  The  awed  spectators  formed  a  line 
between  the  two  and  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Foxey 
Jack  broke  the  hold,  leaped  back  and  struck  a  furi- 
ous, but  ill-judged  blow  which  glanced  off  the 
other's  jaw.  Next  instant  he  was  down  on  the 
snow  again,  with  one  eye  shut,  but  up  again  as 
quickly. 

Again  they  clinched  and  swayed,  breast  to  breast, 
knee  to  knee.  Both  were  large  men;  but  Foxey 
Jack  was  heavier,  having  come  to  his  full  weight. 
This  time  it  was  the  skipper  who  tried  to  break  the 
hold,  realizing  that  his  advantage  lay  in  his  fists, 


Black  Dennis  Nolan  13 

and  Quinn's  in  the  greater  weight  of  body  and 
greater  strength  of  back  and  leg.  So  the  skipper 
twisted  and  pulled;  but  Quinn  held  tight,  and 
slowly  but  surely  forced  the  younger  man  towards 
the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Suddenly  the  skipper  drew 
his  head  back  and  brought  it  forward  and  down- 
ward again,  with  all  the  force  of  his  neck  and  shoul- 
ders, fair  upon  the  bridge  of  his  antagonist's  nose. 
Quinn  staggered  and  for  a  second  his  muscles  re- 
laxed; and  in  that  second  the  skipper  wrenched 
away  from  his  grasp  and  knocked  him  senseless  to 
the  ground. 

"  Lay  there,  ye  scum ! "  cried  Black  Dennis 
Nolan,  breathing  heavily,  and  wiping  blood  from 
his  chin  with  the  back  of  his  hand.  "  Lay  there  an' 
be  damned  to  ye,  if  ye  t'ink  ye  kin  say  *  nay  '  when 
Dennis  Nolan  says  '  aye.'  If  it  didn't  be  for  the 
childern  ye  bes  father  of,  an'  yer  poor,  dacent 
woman,  I'd  t'row  ye  over  the  cliff." 

Foxey  Jack  Quinn  was  in  no  condition  to  reply 
to  the  skipper's  address.  In  fact,  he  did  not  hear 
a  word  of  it.  Two  of  the  men  picked  him  up  and 
carried  him  down  a  steep  and  twisting  path  to  his 
cabin  at  the  back  of  the  harbor,  above  the  green 
water  and  the  gray  drying-stages,  and  beneath  the 


14  The  Harbor  Master 

edge  of  the  vast  and  empty  barren.  He  opened  one 
eye  as  they  laid  him  on  the  bed  in  the  one  room 
of  the  cabin.  He  glared  up  at  the  two  men  and 
then  around  at  his  horrified  wife  and  children. 

"  Folks,"  said  he,  "  I'll  be  sure  the  death  o'  Black 
Dennis  Nolan.  Aye,  so  help  me  Saint  Peter.  I'll 
send  'im  to  hell,  all  suddent  un'  unready,  for  the 
black  deed  he  done  this  day !  " 

That  was  the  first  time  the  skipper  showed  the 
weight  of  his  fist.  His  followers  were  impressed 
by  the  exhibition.  The  work  went  steadily  on 
among  the  rocks  in  front  of  Chance  Along  for  ten 
days,  and  then  came  twenty-four  hours  of  furious 
wind  and  driving  snow  out  of  the  northwest.  This 
was  followed  by  a  brief  lull,  a  biting  nip  of  frost 
that  registered  thirty  degrees  below  zero,  and  then 
fog  and  wind  out  of  the  east.  After  the  snowy 
gale,  during  the  day  of  still,  bitter  cold,  relief  par- 
ties went  to  Squid  Beach  and  Nolan's  Cove  and 
brought  in  the  half-frozen  watchers.  For  a  day 
the  lookout  stations  were  deserted,  the  people  find- 
ing it  all  they  could  do  to  keep  from  freezing  in 
their  sheltered  cabins  in  Chance  Along;  but  with 
the  coming  of  the  east  wind  and  the  fog,  the  huts 
of  sods  were  again  occupied. 


Black  Dennis  Nolan  15 

The  fog  rolled  in  about  an  hour  before  noon; 
and  shortly  after  midnight  the  man  from  Nolan's 
Cove  groped  his  way  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
down  the  twisty  path  to  the  cluster  of  cabins,  and 
to  Black  Dennis  Nolan's  door.  He  pounded  and 
kicked  the  door  until  the  whole  building  trembled. 

"  What  bes  ye  a-wantin'  now  ?  "  bawled  the  skip- 
per, from  within. 

"  I  seed  a  blue  flare  an'  heared  a  gun  a-firing  to 
the  sou'east  o'  the  cove,"  bawled  the  visitor,  in 
reply. 

The  skipper  opened  the  door. 

"  Come  in,  lad !    Come  in !  "  he  cried. 

He  lit  a  candle  and  set  to  work  swiftly  pulling 
on  his  outer  clothes  and  sea-boots. 

"  There  bes  rum  an'  a  mug,  Pat.  Help  yerself 
an'  then  rouse  the  men,"  he  said.  "  Tell  Nick 
Terry  an'  Bill  Brennen  to  get  the  gear  together. 
Step  lively !  Rouse  'em  out !  " 

Pat  Lynch  slopped  rum  into  a  tin  mug,  gulped 
it  greedily,  and  stumbled  from  the  candle-light  out 
again  to  the  choking  fog.  He  would  have  liked 
to  remain  inside  long  enough  to  swallow  another 
drain  and  fill  and  light  his  pipe;  but  with  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  roaring  at  him  like  a  walrus,  he 


16  The  Harbor  Master 

had  not  ventured  to  delay.  He  groped  his  way 
from  cabin  to  cabin,  kicking  on  doors  and  bellow- 
ing the  skipper's  orders. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  twenty  men  of  Chance 
Along  were  clustered  at  the  edge  of  the  broken 
cliff  overlooking  the  beach  of  Nolan's  Cove  and 
the  rock-scarred  sea  beyond.  But  they  could  see 
nothing  of  beach  or  tide.  The  fog  clung  around 
them  like  black  and  sodden  curtains.  Here  and 
there  a  lantern  made  an  orange  blur  against  the 
black.  Some  of  the  men  held  coils  of  rope  with 
light  grappling-irons  spliced  to  the  free  ends. 
Others  had  home-made  boat-hooks,  the  poles  of 
which  were  fully  ten  feet  long. 

They  heard  the  dull  boom  of  a  gun  to  seaward. 

"  She  bes  closer  in ! "  exclaimed  Pat  Lynch. 
"  Aye,  closer  in  nor  when  I  first  heared  her.  She 
bain't  so  far  to  the  south'ard,  neither." 

"  Sure,  then,  the  tide  bes  a-pullin'  on  her  an'  will 
drag  her  in,  lads,"  remarked  an  old  man,  with  a 
white  beard  that  reached  half-way  down  his  breast. 

"  What  d'ye  make  o'  her,  Barney  Keen?  "  asked 
the  skipper  of  the  old  man. 

"  Well,  skipper,  I'll  tell  'e  what  I  makes  o'  her. 
'Twas  afore  yer  day,  lad  —  aye,  as  much  as  t'irty 


Black  Dennis  Nolan  17 

year  ago  —  arter  just  sich  weather  as  this,  an'  this 
time  o'  year,  a  grand  big  ship  altogether  went  all 
abroad  on  these  here  rocks.  Aye,  skipper,  a  grand 
ship.  Nought  come  ashore  but  a  junk  o'  her  hull 
an'  a  cask  o'  brandy,  an'  one  o'  her  boats  wid  the 
name  on  all  complete.  The  Manchester  City  she 
was,  from  Liverpool.  We  figgered  as  how  she  was 
heading  for  the  gulf  —  for  Quebec,  like  as  not. 
So  I  makes  it,  skipper,  as  how  this  here  vessel  may 
be  bound  for  Quebec,  too." 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  took  a  lantern  from  another 
man,  and  led  the  way  down  the  broken  slope  to 
the  beach.  The  gear  was  passed  down  and  piled 
at  the  edge  of  the  tide.  Dry  wood  —  the  frag- 
ments of  ships  long  since  broken  on  the  outer  rocks 

—  was  gathered  from  where  it  had  been  stranded 
high  by  many  spring  tides,  and  heaped  on  a  wide, 
flat  rock  half-way  up  the  slope.     Another  heap  of 
splintered  planks  and  wave-worn  timbers  was  con- 
structed on  the  level  of  the  beach,  close  to  the  water 

—  all  this  by  the  skipper's  orders.     The  sea  ham- 
mered and  sobbed  among  the  rocks,  and  splintered 
the  new  ice  along  the  land-wash. 

"  If  she  comes  ashore  we'll  be  needin'  more  nor 
candle-light  to  work  wid,"  remarked  the  skipper. 


18  The  Harbor  Master 

Again  the  dull  boom  of  a  gun  drifted  in  through 
the  fog. 

"  Aye,  lads,  she  bes  a-drawin'  in  to  us,"  said  old 
Barney  Keen,  with  a  note  of  intense  satisfaction 
in  his  rusty  voice. 


CHAPTER    II 

NOLAN    SHOWS    HIS   APTITUDE    FOR    COMMAND 

THE  big  ship  was  hopelessly  astray  in  the  fog 
and  in  the  grip  of  a  black,  unseen  current  that 
dragged  at  her  keel  and  bulging  beam,  pulling  her 
inexorably  landward  towards  the  hidden  rocks. 
Her  commander  felt  danger  lurking  in  the  fog, 
but  was  at  a  loss  to  know  on  which  side  to  look 
for  it,  at  what  point  to  guard  against  it.  He  was 
a  brave  man  and  a  master  of  seamanship  in  all  the 
minute  knacks  and  tricks  of  seamanship  of  that 
day;  but  this  was  only  his  third  voyage  between 
London  and  the  St.  Lawrence,  and  the  previous 
trips  had  been  made  in  clear  weather.  The  gale 
had  blown  him  many  miles  out  of  his  course,  and 
lost  him  his  main-top-ga'ntsail  yards  and  half  of 
his  mizzen-mast;  the  cold  snap  had  weighted  ship 
and  rigging  with  ice,  and  now  the  fog  and  the 
uncharted  deep-sea  river  had  confused  his  reckon- 

19 


20  The  Harbor  Master 

ing  utterly.  But  even  so,  he  might  have  been  able 
to  work  his  vessel  out  of  the  danger-zone  had  any 
signal  been  made  from  the  coast  in  reply  to  his 
guns  and  flares.  Even  if  after  the  arrival  of  the 
men  from  Chance  Along  on  the  beach  at  Nolan's 
Cove,  the  heaps  of  driftwood  had  been  fired,  he 
might  have  had  time  to  pull  his  ship  around  to  the 
north,  drag  out  of  the  current  that  was  speeding 
towards  the  hidden  rocks,  and  so  win  away  to 
safety.  There  was  wind  enough  for  handling  the 
ship,  he  knew  all  the  tricks  of  cheating  a  lee-shore 
of  its  anticipated  spoils,  and  the  seas  were  not  run- 
ning dangerously  high.  But  his  guns  and  flares 
went  unanswered.  All  around  hung  the  black, 
blind  curtains  of  the  fog,  cruelly  silent,  cruelly 
unbroken  by  any  blink  of  flame. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  his  men  stood  by  the 
frozen  land-wash,  along  which  the  currents  snarled, 
and  rolling  seas,  freighted  with  splinters  of  black 
sea-ice,  clattered  and  sloshed,  waiting  patiently  for 
their  harvest  from  the  vast  and  treacherous  fields 
beyond.  A  grim  harvest!  Grim  fields  to  garner 
from,  wherein  he  who  sows  peradventure  shall  not 
reap,  and  wherein  Death  is  the  farmer!  Aye,  and 
grim  gleaners  those  who  stand  under  the  broken 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command    21 

cliff  of  Nolan's  Cove,  waiting  and  listening  in  the 
dark! 

A  dull,  crashing,  grinding  sound  set  the  black 
fog  vibrating.  Then  a  brief  clamor  of  panic- 
stricken  voices  rang  in  to  the  shore.  Silence  fol- 
lowed that  —  a  silence  that  was  suddenly  broken 
by  the  thumping  report  of  a  cannon.  The  light 
flared  dimly  in  the  fog. 

"  Quiet,  lads !  "  commanded  the  skipper.  "  Let 
the  wood  be  till  I  gives  ye  the  word.  She  bes  fast 
on  the  rocks,  but  she  bain't  busted  yet." 

"  An'  she'll  not  bust  inside  a  week,  i'  this  sea," 
said  one  of  the  men.  "  Sure,  skipper,  the  crew'll 
be  comin'  ashore  i'  their  boats  afore  long.  An' 
they  have  their  muskets  an'  cutlasses  wid  them, 
ye  kin  lay  to  that.  None  but  fools  would  come 
ashore  on  this  coast,  from  a  wreck,  widout  their 
weepons." 

"  Aye,  an'  they'll  be  carryin'  their  gold  an'  sich, 
too,"  said  the  skipper.  "  Lads,  we'll  do  our  best 
—  an'  that  bain't  fightin'  an'  killin',  i'  this  case, 
but  the  usin'  o'  our  wits.  Bill  Brennen,  tell  off 
ten  men  an'  take  'em  along  the  path  to  the  south- 
'ard  wid  ye.  Lay  down  i'  the  spruce-tuck  along- 
side the  path,  about  t'ree  miles  along,  an'  wait  till 


22  The  Harbor  Master 

these  folks  from  the  ship  comes  up  to  ye,  wid  four 
or  five  o'  our  own  lads  a-leadin'  the  way  wid  lan- 
terns. They'll  be  totin'  a  power  o'  val'able  gear 
along  wid  them,  ye  kin  lay  to  that!  Lep  out  onto 
'em,  widout  a  word,  snatch  the  gear  an'  run  fair 
south  along  the  track,  yellin'  like  hell.  Then  stow 
the  noise  all  of  a  suddent,  get  clear  o'  the  track 
an'  work  back  to  this  Chance  Along  wid  the  gear. 
Don't  bat  any  o'  the  ship's  crew  over  the  head  if 
ye  bain't  forced  to  it.  The  gear  bes  the  t'ing  we 
wants,  lads." 

"  Aye,  skipper,  aye  —  but  will  the  sailormen  be 
a-totin'  their  gear  that  a-way?"  returned  Bill. 

"  Sure,  b'y,  for  I'll  tell  'em  as  we  bes  from  Nap 
Harbor,  an'  I'll  send  four  lads  to  show  'em  the 
way.  After  ye  take  their  gear  —  as  much  as  ye 
kin  get  quick  and  easy  —  they'll  follow  ye  along 
the  path  to  try  to  catch  ye,"  replied  Black  Dennis 
Nolan. 

Bill  Brennen  went  up  the  twisty  path  to  the  bar- 
ren, and  along  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  the  south- 
ward, followed  by  ten  sturdy  fellows  armed  with 
long  clubs  of  birch-wood.  Of  the  nine  men  remain- 
ing with  the  skipper,  six  were  sent,  along  with  the 
gear,  to  hide  behind  the  boulders  and  clumps  of 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command    23 

bush  on  the  steep  slope.  The  skipper  cautioned 
them  to  lie  low  and  keep  quiet. 

"  Ahoy,  there!  "  bellowed  the  skipper. 

"  Ahoy !  Can't  you  show  a  light  ?  "  came  the 
reply,  from  the  fog. 

"  Aye,  aye,  sir.    Bes  ye  on  the  rocks  ?  " 

"  Lord,  yes !  Show  a  light,  man,  for  Heaven's 
sake,  so  we  can  get  the  boat  away.  Her  back's 
broken  and  her  bows  stove  in.  She's  breaking  up 
quick." 

The  skipper  and  his  three  companions  speedily 
made  a  small  heap  from  the  big  pile  of  driftwood 
on  the  shingle,  and  lit  it  from  the  candle  of  a  lan- 
tern. They  poured  a  tin  of  seal-oil  over  the  dry 
wreckage,  and  the  red  and  yellow  flames  shot  up. 
It  was  evident  to  the  men  on  the  land-wash  that 
the  unfortunate  ship  had  escaped  the  outer  menaces 
and  won  within  a  hundred  yards  of  the  shore  be- 
fore striking.  She  was  burning  oil  now,  in  vast 
quantities,  to  judge  by  the  red  glare  that  cut  and 
stained  the  fog  to  seaward. 

"  What  sort  of  channel  ?  "  came  the  question. 

"  Full  o'  rocks,  sir ;  but  it  bes  safe  enough  wid 
caution,"  cried  the  skipper. 

"  Can't  you  show  more  light  ?  " 


The  Harbor  Master 


"  Aye,  sir,  there  bes  more  wood." 

A  second  fire  was  built  still  closer  to  the  edge 
of  the  tide  than  the  first. 

"  Stand  by  to  receive  a  line,"  warned  the  mas- 
terful voice  from  the  ship. 

A  rocket  banged  and  a  light  line  fell  writhing 
across  the  beach. 

"  Haul  her  in  and  make  fast  the  hawser." 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  his  three  companions 
were  most  obliging.  They  pulled  in  the  line  until 
the  wet  hawser  on  the  end  of  it  appeared,  and  this 
they  made  fast  to  a  rock  on  the  beach  as  big  as  a 
house. 

A  small  light  appeared  between  the  ship  and  the 
shore,  blinking  and  vanishing  low  down  on  the 
pitching  sea.  The  glare  from  the  fires  on  the  land- 
wash  presently  discovered  this  to  be  an  oil-lantern 
in  the  bows  of  a  boat.  The  boat,  which  contained 
about  a  dozen  men,  was  being  hand-hauled  along 
the  line  that  ran  from*  the  wreck  to  the  shore. 
Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  his  companions  exchanged 
glances  at  sight  of  drawn  cutlasses  and  several 
rifles  and  pistols  in  the  hands  of  the  men  from  the 
wreck.  As  the  leading  boat  came  within  ten  yards 
of  the  shore  an  officer  stood  up  in  her  bows.  By 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command    25 

this  time  the  light  of  a  second  boat  was  blinking 
and  vanishing  in  her  wake. 

"  Bear  a  hand  to  ease  us  off,"  commanded  the 
person  in  the  bows  of  the  boat. 

"  Aye,  sir,  we  bes  ready  to  help  ye,"  replied  the 
skipper,  humbly. 

"How  is  the  landing?" 

"  It  bes  clear,  sir  —  shelvin'  rock." 

"  How  many  are  you,  there  ?  " 

"  We  bes  four  poor  fishermen,  sir." 

The  boat  rowed  in  and  was  kept  from  staving 
in  her  keel  on  the  land-wash  by  Nolan  and  his  men. 
The  officer  sprang  from  the  bows  to  the  icy  shingle, 
slipped  and  recovered  himself  with  an  oath.  He 
was  a  huge  fellow.  In  one  hand  he  carried  an 
iron  dispatch  box,  and  in  the  other  a  heavy  pis- 
tol. 

"This  the  lot  of  you?"  he  asked,  glancing 
sharply  at  Black  Dennis  Nolan. 

"  Aye,  sir,  we  bes  only  four  poor  fishermen," 
replied  Nolan. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.  This  coast  has  the  name 
of  being  a  bad  place  for  shipwrecked  people  to  come 
ashore  on." 

"  You  bes  talkin'   of  the   coast   'round   to   the 


26  The  Harbor  Master 

south  o'  Cape  Race,  sir.  We  bes  all  poor,  honest 
folk  hereabouts,  sir." 

"  Oh,  aye,"  returned  the  other,  drily. 

By  this  time  all  the  men  were  ashore  and  the 
boat  was  high  up  on  the  shingle,  out  of  reach  of 
the  surf.  The  men  stood  close  around  it.  They 
were  well-armed,  and  kept  a  sharp  look-out  on  all 
sides. 

"  What  do  you  call  this  place?  "  asked  the  officer. 

"  Why,  sir,  Frenchman's  Cove  bes  its  name," 
replied  the  skipper. 

Frenchman's  Cove  lies  three  miles  to  the  south 
of  Nolan's  Cove;  but  the  skipper  was  cautious. 

"Do  you  live  here?" 

"  No,  sir.  There  bain't  no  houses  here.'  We 
bes  four  poor  men  from  'way  to  the  nor'ard,  sir, 
a-huntin'  deer  on  the  barrens.  We  was  makin'  camp 
'way  back  inland,  sir,  when  we  heared  yer  guns 
a-firin'." 

"  How  far  away  is  the  nearest  village?  " 

"  Why,  sir,  this  country  bes  strange  to  me,  but 
I's  t'inkin'  Nap  Harbor  wouldn't  be  more'n  ten 
mile  to  the  south,  fair  along  the  coast.  Bes  I  right, 
Pete?" 

"Aye,   skipper,    I   be   t'inkin'   the   same.      Nap 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command     27 

Harbor  lays  to  the  south,  maybe  ten  mile  along, 
maybe  less,"  replied  Peter  Nolan,  a  cousin  of  the 
skipper's. 

A  second  boat  reached  the  shore  and  discharged 
its  freight  of  humans  and  small  packages  and  bun- 
dles. This  boat  contained  four  sailors  and  ten 
passengers.  There  were  three  women  among  the 
passengers.  All  were  clutching  bundles  of  clothing 
or  small  bags  containing  their  personal  possessions 
of  value.  One  of  the  women  was  weeping  hys- 
terically. 

"  Could  we  get  a  passage  'round  to  St.  John's 
from  Nap  Harbor?  "  asked  the  officer. 

"  Aye,  sir,  I  bes  sayin'  ye  could.  Sure  there 
bes  a  fore-and-after  i'  Nap  Harbor,"  said  Nolan. 

"  Will  you  guide  us  to  Nap  Harbor?  " 

"  Aye,  sir,  that  we  will,  an'  glad  to  be  o'  sarvice 
to  ye." 

"  We  will  pay  you  well,  my  good  man,"  said 
one  of  the  passengers,  a  tall  gentleman  with  a  very 
white  and  frightened  face,  draped  in  a  very  wet 
cloak.  "  In  the  meantime,"  he  continued,  "  let  us 
dry  ourselves  at  these  fires  and  have  something 
hot  to  drink.  Where  are  those  stewards,  the  lazy 
dogs!" 


28  The  Harbor  Master 

Two  more  boats  came  from  the  ship  to  the  shore 
without  accident.  In  the  last  to  arrive  were  the 
captain  and  the  doctor.  The  company  gathered 
round  the  fires,  keeping  their  boxes  and  bags  close 
to  them.  The  stewards  and  sailors  brewed  hot 
punches  for  all.  The  lady  with  the  hysterics  was 
soothed  to  quiet  by  the  doctor  and  a  tiny  mug  of 
brandy  and  boiling  water.  The  officers  held  a  con- 
sultation and  decided  to  get  the  passengers  safely 
to  Nap  Harbor,  and  aboard  a  schooner  for  St. 
John's  and  then  to  return  to  Frenchman's  Cove 
themselves  and  salve  what  they  could  of  the  cargo 
of  the  ship,  which  was  evidently  of  unusual  value. 
(Black  Dennis  Nolan  had  expected  this.)  They 
would  get  help  in  Nap  Harbor  for  the  work  of 
salvage,  and  would  leave  the  four  boats  on  the 
beach,  under  a  guard  of  five  seamen  and  the  third 
officer.  They  had  brought  food  from  the  ship,  and 
so  they  ate  a  substantial  meal  while  they  warmed 
themselves  and  discussed  their  plans.  But  Captain 
McTavish  neither  ate  nor  drank,  so  bitterly  did  he 
feel  the  loss  of  his  ship.  He  feared  that  even  the 
moderate  sea  now  running  would  break  her  up 
within  forty-eight  hours. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  vanished  in  the  darkness 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command     29 

many  times  in  the  furtherance  of  his  task  of  gather- 
ing wood  for  the  fires.  At  last,  after  he  'had  cov- 
ertly inspected  all  the  bags,  bundles  and  dispatch 
boxes,  he  disappeared  in  the  surrounding  gloom 
and  did  not  reappear  at  all.  Dick  Lynch,  a  man 
of  about  his  own  size,  shape  and  coloring,  —  one 
of  the  six  who  had  taken  cover  on  the  hillside  — 
entered  the  firelight  in  his  stead,  carrying  a  frag- 
ment of  broken  spar.  The  change  was  not  noticed 
by  the  men  from  the  wreck. 

Dry,  warmly  clothed,  and  inwardly  fortified  with 
food  and  drink,  the  ship's  company  set  off  for  Nap 
Harbor,  carrying  as  much  as  they  could  of  their 
portable  possessions,  and  led  by  four  of  the  honest 
fishermen  of  Chance  Along.  They  left  behind  them 
the  third  mate,  a  sturdy  youth  armed  with  two 
pistols  and  a  fowling-piece,  and  five  sailors  armed 
with  cutlasses  and  pistols  —  and  enough  dry  and 
liquid  provisions  to  last  the  guard  for  several  days. 
They  climbed  the  steep  and  twisty  path  that  con- 
nected the  beach  with  the  edge  of  the  barren,  and 
soon  their  lanterns  were  lost  in  the  fog.  The  third 
mate  and  his  men  brewed  another  generous  supply 
of  rum  punch,  heaped  more  wood  on  the  fire  and 
lit  their  pipes.  By  the  time  each  had  emptied  his 


30  The  Harbor  Master 

tin  mug  for  the  third  time  all  felt  inexpressibly 
sleepy.  Mr.  Darling,  the  commander  of  the  guard, 
counted  his  men  with  a  waving  forefinger,  and  an 
expression  of  owlish  gravity  on  his  round  face. 
Then,  "  Daniel  Berry,  you'll  stand  the  first  trick," 
said  he.  "  Keep  a  sharp  look-out  and  report  any- 
thing unusual.  Silas  Nixon  will  relieve  you  at 
eight  bells  of  the  middle  watch." 

So  Daniel  Berry  got  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and 
stumbled  away  from  the  fire;  but  five  minutes  after 
his  companions  began  to  snore  he  returned  to  his 
blankets  by  the  fire  and  fell  fast  asleep.  He  would 
never  have  been  guilty  of  such  a  crime  at  sea;  but 
ashore  it  was  quite  a  different  matter.  What  was 
the  use  of  a  look-out  ashore?  The  island  of  New- 
foundland was  not  likely  to  strike  a  reef  or  an  ice- 
berg. So  he  sank  deep  into  the  slumber  of  the  just 
and  the  intoxicated. 

A  dawn  wind,  blowing  gently  out  of  the  west, 
began  to  thin  and  lift  the  dripping  fog.  Out  from 
the  dark  that  hedged  in  the  fire  crawled  six  vague 
shapes  which,  as  they  came  into  the  illuminated 
zone,  proved  to  be  Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  five 
of  his  men  of  Chance  Along  with  ropes  in  their 
hands.  They  stooped  over  the  blanket-swathed 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command    31 

sleepers,  working  quickly  and  cunningly  with  the 
ropes.  They  also  bandaged  the  eyes  and  mouths 
of  the  unconscious  mariners  with  strips  of  blanket. 
By  this  time  the  light  on  the  stranded  ship  was 
burning  low.  The  skipper  and  his  companions  ex- 
amined the  four  boats,  dragged  one  of  them  down 
to  the  edge  of  the  tide  and  launched  it.  The  fog 
was  thinning  swiftly,  and  a  gray  pallor  was  spread- 
ing in  the  east  and  south.  They  manned  the  boat 
and  pulled  out  for  the  wreck,  following  the  dripping 
hawser. 

The  wreck  lay  across  a  sunken  rock,  listed  heav- 
ily to  port.  Her  spars  were  all  over  the  side,  a 
tangled  mass  washing  and  beating  about  in  the  seas. 
A  snag  of  rock  had  been  driven  clean  through  the 
timbers  of  the  port-bow.  Black  Dennis  Nolan  and 
his  companions  managed  to  get  aboard  at  last.  A 
fire  of  rags  and  oil  still  burned  in  an  iron  tub  on 
the  main  deck.  They  went  forward  to  the  galley 
for  a  lamp,  and  with  this  entered  the  cabins  aft. 
Dennis  Nolan  led  the  way.  The  captain's  room 
was  empty.  They  found  and  examined  the  quarters 
of  the  passengers.  Clothing  and  bedding  were 
tossed  about  in  disorder,  and  it  seemed  that  every- 
thing of  value  had  been  collected  and  carried  away. 


32  The  Harbor  Master 

They  gathered  up  a  couple  of  silk  gowns  and  a 
fur-lined  cloak,  however.  The  skipper  was  shaking 
out  the  sheets  from  a  berth  when  he  felt  something 
strike  the  toe  of  his  boot.  He  stooped  quickly, 
recovered  a  small  box  bound  in  red  leather,  and 
slipped  it  in  his  pocket.  The  others  had  observed 
nothing  of  this.  In  another  cabin,  they  found  the 
passengers'  heavy  baggage  packed  in  about  a  dozen 
big  leather  boxes.  They  carried  these  to  the  main 
deck  without  waiting. to  open  them.  By  this  time 
the  dawn  was  an  actual,  dreary-gray  fact,  and  the 
fog  was  no  more  than  a  thin  mist. 

"  Now  for  the  cargo,  lads,"  said  the  skipper. 

They  removed  the  tarpaulins  from  the  main 
hatch,  and  broke  it  open.  With  the  lamp  in  his 
left  hand,  the  skipper  descended  into  the  hold  by 
way  of  the  stationary  iron  ladder. 

"  Pianeys,"  he  shouted. 

"  Hell ! "  exclaimed  the  men  on  deck,  in  voices 
of  disgust. 

The  skipper  returned  to  the  deck,  after  about  ten 
minutes  in  the  hold. 

"  The  cargo  bain't  o'  no  use  to  us,  lads,"  he  said. 
"  Pianeys,  engines,  an'  fancy-goods." 

They  broke  open  the  lazarette  and  found  several 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command     33 

cases  of  wines  and  brandy,  and  a  quantity  of  pro- 
visions of  superior  quality.  They  lowered  the  pas- 
sengers' baggage  into  the  boat  and  pulled  ashore 
through  the  spouting,  slobbering  rocks  and  reefs. 
In  a  second  trip  they  salvaged  the  spirits  and  pro- 
visions. They  carried  boxes,  cases  and  crates  up 
to  the  barren,  and  hid  them  in  a  thicket  of  dense 
spruce-tuck,  and  concealed  their  gear  of  lines  and 
boat-hooks  in  the  same  place. 

"  She'll  last  a  good  few  days  yet,  if  it  don't  blow 
up  a  gale,"  said  the  skipper,  waving  his  hand 
towards  the  wreck,  "  and  maybe  we'll  come  back 
an'  get  some  pickin's.  But  we  bain't  wantin'  to 
raise  any  suspicions." 

He  loosened  the  bindings  at  Mr.  Darling's  wrists, 
so  that  they  could  be  worked  off  in  time,  and  then 
set  out  briskly  for  Chance  Along  with  his  three 
companions  at  his  heels. 

Of  the  future  of  the  ship's  company  little  need 
be  said.  On  their  way  to  Nap  Harbor  they  were 
set  upon  and  robbed  by  a  large  force  of  big  men. 
Their  valuables  vanished  into  the  fog  and  darkness, 
as  if  they  had  never  been  —  and  their  guides  van- 
ished also.  They  went  on,  following  the  edge  of 
the  cliff,  and  reached  Nap  Harbor  about  two  hours 


34  The  Harbor  Master 

after  dawn.  From  Nap  Harbor  they  sailed  north- 
ward to  St.  John's,  and  there  reported  the  robbery 
to  the  police.  The  police  calmed  them  with  prom- 
ises, and  in  time  sent  officers  to  Nap  Harbor  armed 
with  search-warrants.  Needless  to  say,  the  jewels 
and  money  were  not  found.  Captain  McTavish  did 
not  return  to  Nolan's  Cove  to  salve  the  cargo  of  his 
ship,  for  the  agent  in  St.  John's  explained  to  him 
that  the  task  would  be  a  profitless  one.  A  few  days 
later  he  was  joined  by  Mr.  Darling  and  the  five 
men  of  the  guard,  and  eventually  they  all  sailed 
away.  But  the  tall  gentleman  with  the  white  face 
and  the  long  cloak  left  a  sting  behind  him.  He  was 
Sir  Arthur  Harwood,  Baronet,  and  the  lady  who 
had  wept  hysterically,  and  been  quieted  by  the  ship's 
surgeon,  was  Lady  Harwood.  By  the  wreck  these 
two  had  lost  much  of  value  in  clothing,  jewelry 
and  money;  but  their  greatest  loss  was  that  of  a 
necklace  of  twelve  flawless  diamonds  and  fourteen 
rubies.  Sir  Arthur  offered  a  reward  of  five  hun- 
dred pounds  for  the  recovery  of  this  necklace.  In 
this  reward  lay  the  sting. 

In  the  little  retiring  harbor  of  Chance  Along, 
Black  Dennis  Nolan  was  a  great  man.  His  plans 
had  worked  without  a  hitch  —  and  still  the  carcass 


Nolan  Shows  Aptitude  for  Command    35 

of  the  ship  lay  in  Nolan's  Cove,  only  waiting  to 
be  picked.  A  rich  harvest  had  been  gathered  with- 
out the  loss  of  a  life,  and  without  attracting  a 
shadow  of  suspicion  upon  Chance  Along.  The 
skipper  called  together  the  twenty  men  who  had 
shared  with  him  the  exertions  and  risks  of  that 
night.  This  was  in  his  store,  with  the  windows 
obscured  by  blankets,  the  door  bolted  and  the  lamp 
lit. 

"  Lads,"  said  he,  "  here  bes  twelve  hundred 
golden  sovereigns.  I  makes  'em  into  twenty-four 
shares  o'  fifty  each.  Now,  lads,  step  up  an'  each 
take  a  share." 

The  men  obeyed,  their  eyes  glowing  and  their 
hands  trembling. 

"  Now  there  bes  four  shares  still  on  the  table," 
said  the  skipper. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  aye,"  stammered  Bill  Brennen, 
huskily.  The  others  breathed  heavily,  shuffled  their 
feet,  gripped  the  money  in  their  pockets  and  glared 
at  the  yellow  pieces  still  glowing  in  the  lamplight. 


CHAPTER    III 

FOXEY    JACK    QUINN    SLIPS   AWAY 

"  FOUR  shares  still  on  the  table,"  repeated  the 
skipper.  "  Well,  lads,  one  bes  for  Black  Dennis 
Nolan." 

He  glared  around  at  the  circle  of  eager,  watchful, 
shaggy  faces  set  against  the  wall  of  gloom  that 
hemmed  in  the  table  and  the  ill-trimmed  lamp. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  that  bes  right,"  muttered  Nick 
Leary. 

"  And  another  bes  for  the  skipper  who  feeds  ye 
all  from  his  store." 

Again  he  glared  around,  letting  his  dark,  daunt- 
less eyes  dwell  for  a  second  on  each  face.  "  And 
t'other  two  bes  for  the  lad  who  larned  you  how." 

With  that,  he  swept  the  four  piles  of  coins  into 
a  pocket  of  His  coat.  One  of  the  men  grunted. 
The  skipper  turned  his  black  but  glowing  regard 
upon  him.  Another  cursed  harshly  and  withdrew 
a  step  from  the  table.  The  skipper  jumped  to  his 
feet. 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         37 

"  Who  says  nay?  "  he  roared.  "  Who  gives  the 
lie  to  my  word  ?  I  bes  skipper  here  —  aye,  an' 
more  nor  skipper !  Would  ye  have  one  gold  guinea 
amongst  the  whole  crew  o'  ye,  but  for  me  ?  Would 
ye  have  a  bite  o'  food  in  yer  bellies,  but  for  me? 
An'  now  yer  bellies  bes  full  an'  yer  pockets  bes  full, 
an'  ye  stand  there  an'  say  nay  to  my  aye!  " 

He  pulled  two  pistols  from  beneath  his  coat, 
cocked  them  deliberately  and  stared  insolently  and 
inquiringly  around. 

"  What  d'ye  say  to  it,  Bill  Brennen  ?  "  he  asked. 

Bill  Brennen  shuffled  his  big  feet  uneasily,  and 
eyed  the  pistols  askance. 

"  Thank  ye  kindly,  skipper.  Ye  speaks  the 
truth,"  said  he. 

"An' ye,  NickLeary?" 

"  Ye  bes  skipper  here,  sure  —  aye,  and  more  nor 
skipper.  But  for  ye  we'd  all  be  starved  to  death 
wid  hunger  an'  cold,"  said  Nick. 

"  An'  what  says  the  rest  o'  ye  ?  Who  denies  me 
the  right  to  four  shares  o'  the  money?  " 

"  Me,  Dennis  Nolan !  "  said  Dick  Lynch.  "  I 
denies  ye  the  right." 

"  Step  up  an'  say  it  to  my  face,"  cried  the  skipper. 

"  Aye,    step    up    an'    give    it   to   him    straight," 


38  The  Harbor  Master 

said  one  of  the  men.     "  Step  up,  Dick,  I  bes  wid 

ye." 

"  Who  said  that  ?  "  roared  the  skipper. 

"  Sure,  'twas  me  said  it,"  growled  one,  Dan  Keen. 

"  Be  there  four  o'  ye  denies  me  the  right  to  the 
money  in  me  pocket?  "  asked  the  skipper. 

"  Aye,  there  bes  four  o'  us." 

"  Then  step  out,  the  four  o'  ye." 

Dick  Lynch,  Dan  Keen  and  two  others  shuffled  to 
the  front  of  the  group.  Black  Dennis  Nolan  looked 
them  over  with  fury  in  his  eyes  and  a  sneer  on  his 
lips.  He  called  up  Bill  Brennen  and  Nick  Leary, 
and  gave  a  pistol  to  each  of  them,  and  exchanged 
a  few  guarded  words  with  them. 

"  Dick  Lynch,  Dan  Keen,  Corny  Quinn  an'  Pat 
Lynch,  stand  where  ye  be,"  he  said.  "  Ease  back 
along  the  wall,  the  rest  o'  ye.  I'll  larn  ye  who  bes 
skipper  an'  master  o'  this  harbor!  I'll  larn  ye  if 
I  bes  as  good  as  the  four  o'  ye  or  not." 

He  slipped  off  his  coat,  with  the  weight  of  coined 
gold  in  the  pockets  of  it,  stepped  swiftly  around 
the  end  of  the  table  and  sprang  furiously  upon  the 
four  men  who  had  denied  his  right  to  four  shares 
of  the  loot. 

"I'll  larn  ye!"  he  roared. 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         39 

Three  of  them,  all  husky  fellows,  stood  their 
ground;  but  the  fourth  turned  and  dashed  clear 
of  the  field  of  instruction.  He  was  a  small  man, 
was  Corny  Quinn,  and  lacked  the  courage  of  his 
convictions. 

The  skipper  struck  the  group  of  three  with  both 
feet  off  the  ground.  They  staggered,  clutched  at 
him,  aimed  blows  and  curses  at  him.  A  terrible 
kick  delivered  by  Dan  Keen  missed  its  intended 
object  and  brought  Pat  Lynch  writhing  to  the  floor, 
and  before  Dan  fully  realized  his  mistake  something 
as  hard  as  the  side  of  a  house  struck  him  on  the 
jaw  and  laid  him  across  the  victim  of  his  error. 
Dick  Lynch  was  more  fortunate  than  his  fellow- 
mutineers  —  for  half  a  minute.  He  closed  with 
the  furious  skipper  and  clung  tightly  to  him,  thus 
avoiding  punishment  for  the  moment.  The  two 
were  well  matched  in  height  and  weight;  but  the 
skipper  was  the  stronger  in  both  body  and  heart. 
Also,  he  seemed  now  to  be  possessed  of  the  nerve- 
strength  of  a  madman.  He  lifted  his  clinging  an- 
tagonist clear  of  the  floor,  shook  him  and  wrenched 
at  him,  and  at  last  broke  his  hold  and  flung  him 
against  the  wall.  Dick  landed  on  his  feet,  steadied 
himself  for  a  moment  and  then  dashed  back  to  the 


40  The  Harbor  Master 

encounter;  but  he  was  met  by  the  skipper's  fist  — 
and  that  was  the  end  of  the  fight. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  returned  to  the  table  and 
sat  down  behind  the  smoky  lamp.  There  was  a 
red  spot  on  his  forehead  from  a  chance  blow,  and 
the  knuckles  of  both  big  hands  were  raw.  He 
breathed  heavily  for  a  full  minute,  and  glared 
around  him  in  silence. 

"  Pick  'em  up,"  he  said,  at  last.  "  The  lesson 
I  larned  'em  seems  to  lay  cold  on  their  bellies.  Give 
'em  rum,  Burky  Nolan  —  ye'll  find  a  case  of  bottles 
behind  the  stove.  Drink  up,  all  o'  ye.  T'row  some 
water  in  their  faces,  too." 

His  orders  were  promptly  obeyed.  He  took  the 
pistols  from  Bill  Brennen  and  Nick  Leary,  and  laid 
them  on  the  table,  and  then  picked  up  his  coat  and 
put  it  on. 

"  Now,  men,  maybe  ye  know  who  bes  master 
of  this  harbor,"  he  said.  "If  any  one  o'  ye,  or 
any  four  o'  ye,  bain't  sure,  say  the  word  an'  I'll 
pull  off  me  coat  again  an'  show  ye.  Well  now, 
we'll  git  back  to  business.  The  jewels  bes  still  hid 
in  the  swamp.  They  bain't  no  manner  o'  use  to  us 
till  we  sells  'em.  I'll  do  that,  men,  bit  by  bit,  in 
St.  John's.  The  grub  an'  liquor  we  took  bes  all  in 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         41 

the  pit  under  this  floor.  Ye  kin  come  every  day 
an'  tote  away  what  ye  wants  of  it.  The  wines  and 
brandy  bes  for  them  who  has  sick  folks  an'  old 
folks  to  feed.  Lift  the  trap,  Bill,  an'  let  them  help 
theirselves." 

Bill  Brennen  stooped  and  hoisted  a  trap-door  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor.  The  skipper  left  the  table, 
lamp  in  hand. 

"  Help  yourselves,  men,"  he  invited.  "  Take 
whatever  ye  fancies." 

They  came  up  meekly.  Even  the  three  who  had 
so  lately  been  disabled  obeyed  the  invitation,  lean- 
ing upon  their  companions.  The  water  and  rum 
had  revived  them  physically,  but  their  spirits  were 
thoroughly  cowed.  The  skipper  held  the  lamp  over 
the  square  hole  in  the  floor. 

'  Two  at  a  time,  men,"  he  cautioned.  "  Bill, 
light  a  candle  an'  pass  it  down  to  'em." 

Half  an  hour  later  the  store  was  empty,  save  for 
the  skipper  and  the  inanimate  gear.  The  blankets 
had  been  removed  from  the  windows,  and  the  lamp 
extinguished.  The  skipper  sat  beside  the  deal  table 
from  which  he  had  distributed  the  gold,  staring 
thoughtfully  at  his  raw  knuckles.  The  pistols  still 
lay  on  the  table.  He  pushed  them  to  one  side, 


42  The  Harbor  Master 

scooped  the  gold  from  his  pockets,  spread  it  out 
and  counted  it  slowly  and  awkwardly.  Then  he 
produced  a  canvas  bag,  stowed  the  gold  away  in 
it  and  tied  the  mouth  of  it  securely. 

"  A  rough  crew,"  he  muttered.  "  They  needs 
rough  handlin',  most  o'  the  time,  an'  then  a  mite 
o'  humorin'  like  ye  t'row  fish  to  a  -team  o'  dogs 
after  ye  lash  the  hair  off  'em.  Aye,  a  rough  crew, 
an'  no  mistake  —  but  Black  Dennis  Nolan  bes  their 
master !  " 

He  left  his  chair,  stepped  across  the  floor,  and 
lifted  the  trap  that  led  to  the  cellar.  He  descended, 
returning  in  a  minute  with  a  bottle  of  wine  and 
two  tins  of  potted  meat. 

"  I'm  t'inkin'  it  bes  about  time  to  t'row  some  fish 
to  that  dog  Jack  Quinn,"  he  murmured. 

He  went  out,  leaving  the  bag  of  gold  on  the 
table,  and  locked  the  door  behind  him.  Though  he 
left  the  gold  he  did  not  leave  the  pistols.  Under 
his  arm  he  carried  the  wine  and  the  tinned  meat. 
He  went  straight  to  Foxey  Jack  Quinn's  cabin,  and 
entered  without  knocking  on  the  door.  Quinn  was 
sitting  by  the  little  stove  with  his  head  untidily 
bandaged.  One  pale,  undamaged  eye  glared  fiercely 
from  the  bandages.  The  woman  was  seated  close 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         43 

to  the  only  window,  sewing,  and  the  children  were 
playing  on  the  floor.  All  movement  was  arrested 
on  the  instant  of  the  skipper's  entrance.  The  chil- 
dren crouched  motionless  and  the  woman's  needle 
stuck  idle  in  the  cloth.  Quinn  sat  like  an  image 
of  wood,  showing  life  only  in  that  one  glaring,  pale 
eye. 

"  How  bes  ye  feelin'  now,  Jack  ? "  asked  the 
visitor. 

The  hulking,  fellow  by  the  stove  did  not  speak, 
but  the  hand  that  held  his  pipe  twitched  ever  so 
slightly. 

"  Orders  be  orders,"  continued  the  skipper. 
"  The  lads  who  obeys  me  fills  their  pockets  wid 
gold  —  an'  them  who  don't  get  hurt.  But  I  bain't 
a  hard  man,  Jack  Quinn.  Ye  did  yer  best  to  heave 
me  over  the  edge  o'  the  cliff  —  an'  most  would 
have  killed  ye  for  that.  Here  bes  wine  an'  meat 
for  ye  an'  the  wife  an'  children." 

He  laid  the  bottle  and  tins  on  a  stool  near  the 
woman.  Quinn's  glance  did  not  waver,  and  not  a 
word  passed  his  swollen  lips ;  but  his  wife  snatched 
up  one  of  the  tins  of  meat. 

"  The  saints  be  praised !  "  she  cried.  "  We  bes 
nigh  starvin'  to  deat'  wid  hunger!  " 


44  The  Harbor  Master 

"  'Twas  me  give  it  to  ye,  not  the  saints,"  said 
Black  Dennis  Nolan,  "  an'  there  bes  more  for  ye 
where  it  come  from." 

He  turned  and  went  out  of  the  cabin. 

"  I'll  fix  him  yet,"  mumbled  Foxey  Jack  Quinn. 

The  woman  gave  no  heed  to  the  remark,  for  she 
had  already  opened  one  of  the  tins  of  choice 
meat  and  was  feeding  the  children  from  her  fin- 
gers. 

The  skipper  returned  to  the  store,  took  up  his 
bag  of  gold  and  went  home.  He  lived  with  his 
grandmother,  old  Kate  Nolan  (commonly  known 
in  the  harbor  as  Mother  Nolan)  and  with  his  young 
brother  Cormick.  The  cottage  was  the  largest  in 
the  harbor  —  a  grand  house  altogether.  It  con- 
tained three  rooms,  a  loft,  and  a  lean-to  extension 
occupied  by  a  pig  and  a  dozen  fowls.  The  skipper 
found  the  old  woman  squatted  in  a  low  chair  beside 
the  stove  in  the  main  room.  This  room  served  as 
kitchen,  dining-room,  general  reception,  and  the 
skipper's  bed-room.  A  ladder  led  up  to  the  loft 
from  one  corner.  Of  the  remaining  rooms  on  the 
ground  floor  one  was  where  the  grandmother  slept, 
and  the  other  one  was  kept  spotless,  musty  and  air- 
less for  the  occasional  occupation  of  good  Father 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         45 

McQueen,  the  missionary  priest,  who  visited  Chance 
Along  three  times  a  year.  Cormick  slept  in  the 
loft. 

Mother  Nolan  glanced  up  from  the  red  draft  of 
the  stove  at  her  grandson's  entrance.  She  held  a 
short  clay  pipe  in  one  wrinkled  hand.  She  regarded 
the  youth  inscrutably  with  black,  undimmed  eyes, 
but  did  not  speak.  He  closed  the  door,  faced  her 
and  extended  the  heavy  bag  of  coins. 

"  Granny,  we  bes  rich  this  minute ;  but  we'll  be 
richer  yet  afore  we  finishes,"  he  said.  "  This  bag 
bes  full  o'  gold,  Granny  —  full  o'  coined  English 
gold." 

"  Out  o'  the  wrack  ?  "  she  queried. 

"  Aye,  it  was  in  the  ship,  Granny." 

The  old  woman  puffed  on  her  pipe  for  a  few 
seconds. 

"  An'  what  else  come  out  o'  the  wrack,  Denny?  " 

"  Diamonds  an'  rubies  an'  pearls,  the  wine  ye 
drank  last  night  an'  the  fancy  grub  ye  et  to-day. 
Twas  a  grand  wrack  altogether,  Granny." 

Mother  Nolan  wagged  her  gray  head  and  re- 
turned her  gaze  to  the  red  draft  of  the  stove. 
"  'Twas  grand  wine,"  she  muttered.  "  Wracker's 
wine !  Dead  man's  wine !  " 


46  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Nay,  Granny,  there  ye  bes  wrong.  Not  a  lad 
aboard  her  was  killed  nor  drownded." 

"  Then  how  come  ye  by  the  gold  an'  diamonds, 
Denny?" 

The  skipper  laughed. 

"  Sure,  Granny,  I  tricked  'em ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  made  use  o'  my  wits  —  an'  the  harbor  bes 
rich." 

"  Saints  pity  ye,  Denny !  Rich  ?  The  folk  o' 
this  harbor  bain't  intended  for  riches.  Take  a  care, 
Denny,  for  the  devil  bes  in  it.  Saints  presarve  us! 
No  good  never  did  come  to  this  harbor  out  o' 
wracks,  Denny.  Me  own  father  was  drunk  wid 
rum  out  o'  a  wrack  when  he  fell  over  the  edge  o' 
the  cliff,  an'  broke  his  neck  on  the  land-wash.  It 
was  for  a  case  o'  brandy  out  o'  a  wrack  Pat  Walen 
an'  Micky  Nolan  fit  wid  skulpin'-knives  till  Pat  was 
killed  dead." 

The  skipper  laughed  again  and  expanded  his 
chest. 

"  There  bain't  no  fightin'  over  wracks  now,"  he 
said.  "  I  bes  skipper  now,  Granny.  Do  this,  do 
that,  says  I  —  an'  it's  done !  An'  I  gives  out  the 
shares  to  the  men  like  I  was  master  o'  a  sealin'- 
ship  after  a  trip  to  the  ice  —  one  share  to  every 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         47 

man  o'  the  crew  an'  four  to  meself.  There  bain't 
no  shares  for  ship  an'  owners  in  this  business, 
Granny." 

"  An'  where  be  the  diamonds  ?  "  asked  the  old 
woman. 

"  Hid  in  the  marsh,  safe  an'  sound  till  I  takes 
'em  to  St.  John's,"  replied  the  skipper. 

"  There  bain't  no  luck  in  diamonds,"  mumbled 
the  old  woman,  "  an'  there  bain't  no  luck  in  wracks. 
The  devil  bes  in  the  both  o'  them,  Denny." 

The  skipper  passed  through  his  grandmother's 
bed-room  and  entered  the  cold  and  un-aired  cham- 
ber that  was  reserved  for  the  use  of  Father  Mc- 
Queen. He  closed  the  door  behind  him,  bolted  it 
stealthily  and  then  tiptoed  across  the  floor  to  the 
bulging  chimney  and  empty  fire-place.  He  knelt 
on  the  drafty  hearth,  placed  the  bag  of  gold  be- 
side his  knee,  and  thrust  both  arms  into  the  black 
maw  of  the  chimney.  After  a  minute  of  prying  and 
pulling  he  withdrew  them,  holding  a  square,  smoke- 
smudged  stone  in  his  hands.  Laying  this  on  the 
hearth,  he  took  up  the  canvas  bag  and  thrust  it  into 
a  cavity  at  the  back  of  the  chimney  that  had  been 
ready  for  the  reception  of  just  such  a  treasure  for 
some  time.  Then  he  replaced  the  stone  and  scram- 


48  The  Harbor  Master 

bled  to  his  feet.  He  glanced  furtively  at  the  one 
small  window  which  lighted  the  room,  then  moved 
noiselessly  to  the  centre  of  the  floor  and  put  up  his 
right  hand  to  the  whitewashed  beam  that  crossed 
the  low  ceiling.  His  fingers  searched  delicately  for 
a  full  minute;  and  then  he  lowered  his  hand,  hold- 
ing a  small  square  of  dry  wood.  The  beam  had 
been  skilfully  hollowed  at  this  point.  From  the 
cavity  he  took  a  small  box  bound  in  red  leather  — 
the  same  small  box  that  he  had  found  among  the 
sheets  and  blankets  of  a  berth  in  the  wreck.  He 
opened  it  and  gloated  over  a  necklace  of  twelve 
diamonds  and  fourteen  rubies  glinting,  flashing  and 
glowing  on  a  bed  of  white  satin.  He  fondled  the 
wonderful  stones  with  his  blunt  finger-ends.  So 
he  stood  for  a  long  time,  breathing  heavily,  his 
black  eyes  glowing  like  the  rubies  and  glinting  like 
the  diamonds. 

"  A  fortune/'  he  murmured.  "  Aye,  houses  an' 
ships,  liquor,  food  an'  sarvants.  Holy  saint!  I 
bes  richer  nor  any  marchant  in  St.  John's !  " 

At  last  he  closed  the  box,  put  it  back  in  the 
cavity  overhead,  and  returned  the  small  square  of 
wood  to  its  place.  He  looked  around  the  room. 
The  fading  light  of  the  winter  day  was  gray  at  the 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         49 

window.  The  curtained  bed  was  a  mass  of  gloom; 
a  white  Christ  on  a  cross  of  ebony  gleamed  above 
the  narrow  chimney-shelf,  between  two  candlesticks 
of  dull  brass;  the  floor,  with  its  few  rough  mats, 
was  as  cold  as  the  frozen  snow  outside.  The  skip- 
per felt  the  chill  of  the  place  in  his  sturdy  bones. 
He  shot  a  glance  at  the  crucifix.  It,  too,  was  an 
offering  from  the  sea.  His  father  had  told  him 
how  it  had  come  ashore  in  the  hand  of  a  dead 
woman,  thirty  years  ago.  Now  the  carven  image 
of  the  Saviour  seemed  to  gleam  out  from  the  black 
of  the  cross  and  the  shadowy  wall  as  if  with  an 
inner  illumination.  Black  Dennis  Nolan  made  the 
sign  with  an  awkward  and  unaccustomed  finger, 
and  then  went  swiftly  from  the  room. 

The  skipper,  Bill  Brennen  and  Nick  Leary  left 
their  cabins  stealthily  about  midnight,  met  on  the 
snowy  barren  above  the  harbor,  and  tramped  south- 
ward to  the  vicinity  of  Nolan's  Cove.  They  worked 
for  a  little  while  in  a  clump  of  spruce-tuck,  then 
moved  off  to  another  thicket  about  half  a  mile  away, 
and  there  worked  again. 

"  There  bes  some  men  in  this  harbor  I  wouldn't 
trust  as  far  as  I  could  t'row  'em  over  my  back," 
said  the  skipper. 


50  The  Harbor  Master 

Bill  and  Nick  agreed  with  him.  The  skipper 
glanced  up  at  the  starless  sky. 

"  There'll  be  snow  by  sun-up,"  he  said. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  a  desperate  flurry  out  o'  the  nor'- 
west,"  replied  Brennen. 

"  D'ye  mean  wind,  too?  " 

"  Aye,  skipper,  mark  that !  " 

All  three  felt  a  breath  on  their  faces  like  the 
very  essence  of  cold.  They  turned  northward  and 
set  out  on  the  homeward  way.  All  were  snug  in 
their  beds  long  before  the  first  pale  hint  of  dawn. 
The  icy  draft  from  the  northwest  was  a  little 
stronger  by  that  time,  and  it  puffed  a  haze  of  dry 
and  powdery  snow  before  it.  The  night  was  full 
of  faint,  insistent  voices.  The  roofs  of  the  cabins 
snapped  and  creaked  as  if  icy  fingers  were  prying 
them  apart.  A  sharp  crackling  sound  came  up  from 
the  harbor,  where  the  tide  fumbled  at  the  edges  of 
black  ice.  A  dull,  vast  moaning  that  was  scarcely 
a  sound  at  all  —  something  as  vague,  yet  mighty 
as  silence  itself  —  drifted  over  the  barrens  and  over 
the  sheltered  habitations  out  of  the  northwest. 

When  the  skipper  awoke  in  the  morning  the 
"  flurry  "  was  rolling  over  the  brink  of  the  barren, 
and  down  upon  Chance  Along  in  full  force.  The 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         51 

skipper  piled  dry  wood  —  birch  and  splinters  of 
wreckage  —  into  the  round  stove,  until  it  roared  a 
miniature  challenge  to  the  ice-freighted  wind  out- 
side. The  bucket  of  water  on  the  bench  in  the 
corner  was  frozen  to  half  its  depth.  He  cut  at  it 
with  a  knife  used  for  skinning  seals,  and  filled  the 
tea-kettle  with  fragments  of  ice.  His  young  brother 
Cormick  came  stiffly  down  the  ladder  from  the  loft, 
and  stood  close  to  the  stove  shivering. 

"  It  bes  desperate  weather,  Denny,"  said  the  lad. 
"  Sure,  I  near  froze  in  my  blankets." 

"  Aye,  Cormy,  but  we  bes  snug  enough,  wid  no 
call  to  go  outside  the  door,"  replied  the  skipper. 
"  We  has  plenty  o'  wood  an'  plenty  o'  grub ;  an' 
we'll  never  lack  the  one  or  t'other  so  long  as  I 
bes  skipper  o'  this  harbor." 

"  Aye,  Denny,  we  never  et  so  well  afore  ye  was 
skipper,"  returned  Cormick,  looking  at  his  brother 
in  frank  admiration.  "  Grub  —  aye,  an'  gold  too ! 
I  hears  ye  took  a  barrel  o'  money  off  that  wrack, 
Denny." 

"  An'  there'll  be  more  wracks,  Cormy,  an'  we'll 
take  our  pickin's  from  every  one,"  said  the  skipper. 
"  Times  bes  changed,  lad.  The  day  was  when  we 
took  what  the  sea  t'rowed  up  for  us;  but  now  we 


52  The  Harbor  Master 

takes  what  we  wants  an'  leaves  what  we  don't  want 
to  the  sea." 

At  that  moment  the  voice  of  old  Mother  Nolan 
sounded  fretfully  from  the  next  room. 

"  Denny !  Cormy !  "  she  called.  "  I  bes  fair  per- 
ishin'  to  death  in  my  bed.  The  wind  bes  blowin' 
an'  yowlin'  t' rough  this  room  like  the  whole  end  o' 
the  house  was  knocked  out." 

The  skipper,  who  was  as  gentle  with  his  old 
grandmother  and  as  kind  to  his  young  brother  as 
the  best  man  in  the  world  could  have  been,  crossed 
the  kitchen  immediately  and  opened  the  door  of  the 
old  woman's  chamber.  Mother  Nolan  was  sitting 
up  in  her  bed  with  a  blanket  on  her  thin,  bent  shoul- 
ders, and  a  red  flannel  night-cap  on  her  gray  head. 

Her  small  face  was  pinched  by  cold  and  age,  but 
her  black  eyes  were  alive  and  erect. 

"  The  mats  be  squirmin'  and  flappin'  on  the  floor 
like  live  fish,"  she  exclaimed.  "  Saints  presarve  all 
poor  creatures  abroad  this  day  on  sea  or  land! 
They'll  be  starved  to  death  wid  the  cold,  Denny, 
for  bain't  I  most  blowed  out  o'  my  bed  right  in 
this  grand  house?  " 

The  skipper  realized  that  the  room  was  colder 
than  the  middle  apartment  of  the  cabin  had  any 


Foxey  Jack  Quinn  Slips  Away         53 

right  to  be.  He  went  to  the  window  and  examined 
it.  The  small  frame  was  as  tight  in  the  wall  as 
a  dozen  spikes  and  a  liberal  daubing  of  tar  could 
make  it.  It  had  never  been  opened  since  the  build- 
ing of  the  house. 

"  The  wind  blows  under  Father  McQueen's  door 
like  spray  from  the  land-wash,"  said  the  old  woman. 

"  'Twill  be  comin'  down  the  ohimbly,"  said  Den- 
nis, aware  of  the  tide  of  icy  wind  low  about  his 
feet.  He  crossed  the  room  and  opened  the  door  of 
the  dismal  chamber  reserved  for  the  use  of  the  mis- 
sionary. The  sash  of  the  window  hung  inward, 
the  woodwork  splintered  and  the  spikes  twisted, 
admitting  a  roaring  current  of  wind  and  powdery 
snow.  With  a  cry  of  consternation  and  rage  the 
skipper  sprang  in,  banged  and  bolted  the  door  be- 
hind him,  and  went  straight  to  the  rafter  across 
the  middle  of  the  ceiling.  He  removed  the  square 
of  wood  —  and  the  hollow  behind  it  was  empty! 
For  a  moment  he  stood  with  his  empty  hand  in 
the  empty  hiding-place,  unable  to  move  or  think 
because  of  the  terrific  emotions  which  surged 
through  him.  At  last  he  went  over  to  the  chimney 
and  examined  it.  The  bag  of  gold  was  in  its  place. 


CHAPTER    IV 

DEAD   MAN'S   DIAMONDS 

Now  I  must  hark  back  a  few  hours  to  the  time 
when  the  skipper  and  his  lieutenants  were  on  their 
way  to  the  barrens  behind  Nolan's  Cove  to  safe- 
guard the  interests  of  the  harbor  by  changing  the 
hiding-place  of  the  common  treasure  of  jewelry. 
They  had  not  been  gone  half  an  hour  from  Chance 
Along  before  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  slipped  from  his 
cabin  and  glided,  like  a  darker  shadow  in  the  dark- 
ness, to  the  skipper's  house.  He  was  not  ignorant 
of  his  enemy's  departure  southward.  He  knew  that 
both  young  Cormick  and  old  Mother  Nolan  were 
heavy  sleepers;  and,  earlier  in  the  evening,  he  had 
seen  something  through  the  window  of  the  guest- 
chamber  that  had  aroused  his  curiosity  and  a  pas- 
sion of  avarice. 

Foxey  Jack  Quinn  was  warmly  clothed.  His 
rackets  and  a  light  pack  were  on  his  back  and  his 
pockets  were  stuffed  with  food  and  a  flask  of  rum. 
He  was  armed  with  a  hatchet.  He  crouched  be- 

54 


Dead  Man's  Diamonds  55 

side  the  window  of  the  empty  room  for  several 
minutes,  listening  intently  and  fearfully.  At  last 
he  wedged  the  strong  blade  of  his  hatchet  between 
the  sash  of  the  window  and  the  frame  and  prised 
inward,  steadily  and  cautiously.  With  a  shrill  pro- 
test of  frosted  spikes  the  lower  part  of  the  sash 
gave  by  an  inch  or  two.  He  devoted  another  min- 
ute to  listening,  then  applied  the  hatchet  to  the  left 
side  of  the  window.  He  worked  all  round  the  sash 
in  this  way  and  at  last  pushed  it  inward  with  both 
hands  until  it  hung  below  the  sill  by  a  couple  of 
bent  spikes.  He  thrust  the  hatchet  in  his  belt  and 
entered  the  room.  He  put  up  his  hand  to  the  rafter 
that  crossed  the  low  ceiling  and  so  felt  his  way 
along  to  the  middle  of  the  room.  Halting  there, 
he  removed  the  fur  mitten  from  his  right  hand  and 
felt  about  until  his  chilled  fingers  discovered  a  thin 
crack  in  the  whitewash  of  the  rafter.  The  little 
square  of  dry  wood  came  away  in  his  fingers.  Next 
moment  he  held  the  leather-bound  casket  in  his 
hand.  He  opened  it  and  felt  the  cold  jewels  which 
he  could  not  see.  Then  he  closed  it,  slipped  it  into 
a  pocket,  replaced  the  square  of  wood  in  the  beam 
and  made  his  cautious  way  back  to  the  window. 
He  crawled  over  the  sill,  turned  and  tried  to  lift 


56  The  Harbor  Master 

the  sash  upward  and  outward  to  its  place.  The 
sash  came  up  easily  enough  but  the  bent  spikes 
would  not  hold.  After  a  few  minutes  of  fruitless 
effort  he  turned  away,  leaving  the  window  wide 
open.  The  sky  was  black  as  the  throat  of  a  chim- 
ney. A  breath  of  wind  came  from  the  northwest. 
Foxey  Jack  Quinn  was  not  weatherwise,  however. 
He  climbed  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the  barrens  and 
turned  to  the  north. 

"  Diamonds  white  an'  red,"  he  muttered.  "  I  seen 
'em,  and  I  knowed  what  they  was.  Every  little 
stone  bes  worth  more  nor  all  the  fore-and-afters 
on  the  coast.  I  bes  a  rich  man  now  —  richer  nor 
the  governor,  richer  nor  any  marchant  in  St.  John's 
—  richer  nor  the  king  o'  England,  maybe.  Holy 
saints  be  praised!  Never  agin  will  I  wet  a  line 
at  the  fishin'  nor  feel  the  ache  o'  hunger  in  my  belly. 
Denny  Nolan  will  soon  be  cursin'  the  day  he  batted 
me  about  like  a  swile." 

His  plans  for  the  immediate  future  were  clear 
in  his  mind  but  for  the  more  distant  future  they 
were  vague,  though  rosy.  He  would  make  the  ten 
miles  to  Brig  Tickle  in  less  than  three  hours,  and 
from  there  turn  a  point  or  two  westward  from 
the  coast  and  strike  across  country  to  the  head  of 


Dead  Man's  Diamonds  57 

Witless  Bay.  He  had  a  cousin  in  Witless  Bay  and 
could  afford  to  rest  in  that  cousin's  house  for  a 
few  hours.  There  he  would  hire  a  team  of  dogs 
and  make  the  next  stage  in  quick  time.  Dennis 
Nolan,  who  would  not  discover  the  theft  of  the 
diamonds  until  after  sun-up,  would  be  left  hope- 
lessly astern  by  that  time.  So  Quinn  figured  it  out. 
On  reaching  St.  John's  he  would  go  to  a  shebeen 
that  he  knew,  in  a  narrow  and  secluded  back  street, 
and  there  rent  a  room.  Then  he  would  commence 
the  business  of  disposing  of  one  of  the  diamonds. 
Just  how  he  was  to  go  about  this  he  did  not  know, 
but  he  felt  sure  that  Mother  McKay,  who  kept  the 
shebeen,  would  be  able  to  give  him  some  valuable 
advice  on  the  subject.  And  after  that?  Well,  the 
prospects  were  rosy  but  vague.  He  would  get  word 
to  his  wife  in  some  way  to  move  herself  and  the 
children  to  Witless  Bay.  He  would  send  her 
twenty  dollars,  and  after  that,  for  the  rest  of  his 
life,  ten  good  dollars  every  month.  As  for  him- 
self, he  would  sail  away  to  some  big  city  "  up- 
along  "  —  to  Boston,  New  York  or  London  —  dis- 
pose of  the  necklace  stone  by  stone,  buy  a  great 
house  and  live  in  idle  luxury.  He  would  dress  like 
a  merchant,  eat  hearty  every  day,  drink  deep  and 


58  The  Harbor  Master 

sleep  warm.  He  had  heard  of  such  things  —  of 
men  who  never  set  their  hands  to  a  stroke  of  work 
from  year's  end  to  year's  end.  He  would  live  like 
a  king  and  drink  like  a  lord  and,  like  the  good 
father  and  husband  that  he  firmly  believed  himself 
to  be,  he  would  send  ten  dollars  to  his  wife  every 
month. 

With  such  exalted  dreams  as  these  did  Foxey 
Jack  Quinn  occupy  his  mind  as  he  hurried  north- 
ward along  the  edge  of  the  snowy  barrens.  He 
had  travelled  about  two  miles  when  he  suddenly 
became  aware  of  the  increased  force  and  coldness 
of  the  wind.  Snow  as  dry  as  desert-sand  and  as 
sharp  as  splintered  ice  blew  against  his  face,  sting- 
ing his  eyes  (one  of  which  was  still  half  closed), 
and  smarting  the  battered  flesh  of  brow  and  cheek. 
Then,  for  the  first  time,  he  realized  that  one  of 
those  dreaded  storms  out  of  the  northwest  was 
approaching.  But  for  the  treasure  in  his  pocket 
he  would  have  faced  about  and  returned  to  Chance 
Along;  but  as  it  was  he  drew  his  fur  cap  lower 
about  ihis  ears,  wound  a  woollen  scarf  around  the 
lower  part  of  his  face  and  held  doggedly  on  his 
way.  The  wind  lulled  for  a  little  while,  quieting 
his  apprehensions.  His  rackets  were  on  his  feet 


Dead  Man's  Diamonds  59 

now  and  he  pushed  along  briskly  over  the  pallid 
snow,  through  the  whispering  dark.  He  had  cov- 
ered another  mile  before  the  skirmishers  of  the 
storm  rushed  over  him  again  out  of  the  black  north- 
west. That  bitter  wind  soaked  through  his  heavy 
garments  like  water  and  chilled  him  to  the  heart. 
Its  breath  of  dry  snow,  embittered  and  intensified 
by  its  rushing  journey  across  frozen  seas  and  a 
thousand  miles  of  frozen  wilderness,  blinded  him, 
cut  him  and  snatched  at  his  lips  as  if  it  would  pluck 
life  itself  from  his  lungs.  He  turned  his  back  to 
it  and  crouched  low,  gasping  curses  and  half-choked 
prayers  to  the  saints.  Then  the  full  fury  of  the 
storm  reached  him,  the  dark  grew  pallid  with  flying 
snow-dust,  and  the  frozen  earth  seemed  to  quake 
beneath  his  hands  and  knees.  For  a  minute  he  lay 
flat,  fighting  for  breath  with  his  arms  encircling 
his  face.  He  knew  that  he  must  find  shelter  of  some 
description  immediately  or  else  die  terribly  of  suf- 
focation and  cold.  Surely  he  could  find  a  thicket 
of  spruce-tuck  near  at  hand?  He  staggered  to  his 
feet,  stood  hunched  for  a  second  to  get  the  points 
of  the  compass  clear  in  his  mind,  then  plunged  for- 
ward, fighting  through  the  storm  like  a  desperate 
swimmer  breasting  the  surf.  He  thought  he  was 


60 


moving  straight  inland  where  he  would  be  sure  to 
stumble  soon  against  a  sheltering  thicket.  But  the 
onslaught  of  the  storm  had  bewildered  him.  He 
struggled  onward;  but  not  toward  the  twisted 
clumps  of  spruces.  His  eyes  were  shut  against  the 
lashing  of  the  snow  and  he  held  his  arms  locked 
before  him  across  his  mouth  and  nostrils.  The 
wind  eddied  about  him,  thick  as  blown  spray  with 
its  swirling  sheets  of  ice  particles.  It  struck  him 
on  all  sides,  lashing  his  face  and  tearing  at  his  back 
whatever  way  he  turned.  ...  A  scream  of  horror 
rang  out  for  an  instant  and  was  smothered  by  the 
roaring  of  the  storm.  So  the  spirit  of  Jack  Quinn 
was  whirled  away  on  the  tempest  —  God  knows 
whither !  —  and  the  poor  body  came  to  rest  on  the 
frozen  land-wash  far  below  the  edge  of  the  blind, 
unheeding  cliff. 

The  storm  raged  all  day  out  of  the  northwest, 
and  the  folk  of  Chance  Along  kept  to  their  cabins 
and  clustered  around  their  little  stoves.  Even  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  did  not  venture  farther  than  fifty 
yards  from  his  own  door.  He  replaced  the  window 
of  Father  McQueen's  room,  said  nothing  of  his 
loss  to  Cormick  and  the  old  woman,  and  after 
breakfast  went  out  and  fought  his  way  along  to 


Dead  Man's  Diamonds  61 

Foxey  Quinn's  cabin.  He  found  the  woman  in 
tears. 

"  Where  bes  Jack  ?  "  he  asked,  drawing  the  door 
tight  behind  him  and  standing  with  his  hand  on 
the  latch. 

"  He  bain't  here,"  said  the  woman.  "  He  was 
gone  from  the  bed  when  first  I  opened  my 
eyes." 

The  skipper  was  a  hard  man  in  many  ways,  even 
then.  Later,  as  he  became  established  in  his  power, 
the  hardness  grew  in  him  with  the  passing  of  every 
day.  But  always  a  tender  spot  could  be  found  in 
his  heart  for  women  and  children. 

"  He  was  to  my  house  last  night,"  he  said.  "  He 
bust  in  a  windy  an'  tried  to  rob  me  —  aye,  an* 
maybe  he  done  it." 

The  woman  covered  her  face  with  her  rough, 
red  hands  and  moaned  like  a  wounded  thing. 

"  I  bain't  holdin'  it  agin'  ye,"  continued  the  skip- 
per. "  I  fight  wid  men,  not  women  an'  childern. 
I  fit  Jack  Quinn  fair  an'  bate  him  fair.  Let  it  be ! 
If  ye  wants  for  food,  Polly  —  whenever  ye  wants 
for  food  an'  clothin'  —  send  the  word  to  me.  I 
bes  skipper  in  this  harbor  —  aye,  an'  more  nor 
skipper." 


62  The  Harbor  Master 

He  turned  then  and  let  himself  out  into  the  shriek- 
ing storm.  Polly  Quinn  stared  at  the  door  and 
the  children  clustered  about  her  and  pulled  at  her 
shabby  skirts. 

"  Aye,  he  tells  true,"  she  murmured.  "  Never  a 
hard  word  did  Mother  Nolan  ever  have  from  him. 
He  was  a  good  son  to  his  mother  an'  the  old  skip- 
per. But  them  as  crosses  him  —  the  holy  saints 
presarve  'em!  Men-folks  must  be  his  dogs  or  his 
enemies.  He  batted  me  poor  Jack  nigh  to  death 
wid  his  big  hands." 

She  turned  at  last  and  fed  the  glowing  stove. 
Then  she  set  about  getting  breakfast  for  herself 
and  the  children.  There  was  enough  hard  bread 
in  the  house  to  last  the  day.  There  was  a  pinch 
of  tea  in  the  canister.  Jack  had  drunk  the  wine 
from  the  wreck  and  taken  away  with  him  all  that 
had  been  left  of  the  tinned  meats  which  the  skipper 
had  brought  over  the  day  before.  The  woman  ob- 
served these  things  and  gave  some  thoughts  to 
them.  She  glanced  up  at  the  blinding  white  tumult 
against  the  drifted  window,  reflecting  that  her 
husband  had  taken  the  best  food  in  the  house  — 
enough  to  last  him  for  two  days,  at  least  —  and 
had  left  behind  him,  for  herself  and  three  children, 


Dead  Man's  Diamonds  63 

eight  cakes  of  hard  bread  and  a  pinch  of  tea.  Her 
faded  eyes  glowed  and  her  lips  hardened. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  brooded  all  day  by  the  stove 
with  his  big  hands  clasped  idly  between  his  knees. 
The  grandmother  sat  near  him,  in  a  tattered  arm- 
chair, smoking  her  pipe  and  mumbling  wise  saws 
and  broken  stories  of  the  past. 

"  I  bes  a  storm-child,"  she  mumbled.  "  Aye, 
sure,  wasn't  I  born  a  night  in  winter  wid  jist  sich 
a  flurry  as  this  one  howlin'  over  Chance  Along  — 
aye,  an'  wid  a  caul  over  me  face.  So  I  has  the 
power  o'  seein'  the  fairies."  And  then,  "  me  man 
were  bigger  nor  ye,  Denny.  Skipper  Tim,  he  were. 
Built  the  first  fore-an'-after  on  this  coast,  he  did." 
And  later  — "  There  bain't  no  luck  in  diamonds. 
The  divil  bes  in  'em." 

Young  Cormick  sat  on  the  other  side  of  the  stove, 
busily  carving  a  block  of  wood  with  a  clasp-knife. 


CHAPTER   V 

FATHER    MCQUEEN  VISITS  HIS  FLOCK 

AFTER  the  storm  from  the  northwest  had  blown 
itself  out,  a  spell  of  soft  weather  set  in  along  the 
coast.  East  and  southeast  winds  brought  fog  and 
mild  rains,  the  ice  rotted  along  the  landwash  and 
the  snow  dwindled  from  the  barrens  and  left  drip- 
ping hummocks  and  patches  of  black  bog  exposed. 
The  wreck  in  Nolan's  Cove  had  gone  to  pieces  dur- 
ing the  blizzard,  sunk  its  cargo  of  pianos,  manu- 
factured cotton  and  hardware  in  six  fathoms  of 
water  and  flung  a  liberal  proportion  of  its  spars 
and  timbers  ashore. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  felt  as  sure  that  Jack  Quinn 
had  perished  in  the  storm  as  if  he  had  seen  him 
prone  and  stiff  under  the  drifting  snow.  The  fool 
had  left  the  harbor  that  night,  sometime  before 
the  onslaught  of  the  blizzard,  but  after  midnight 
to  a  certainty.  He  had  gone  out  —  and  he  had 
not  returned!  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  his 
miserable  fate.  The  skipper  pictured  him  in  his 

64 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     65 

clear  mind  as  lying  somewhere  out  on  the  barrens 
with  the  red-bound  casket  clutched  in  a  frozen  hand. 
So  the  skipper  devoted  a  day  to  searching  for  him 
over  the  thawing,  sodden  wilderness  behind  the 
harbor.  He  took  Bill  Brennen  and  Nick  Leary 
with  him.  The  other  men  did  not  grumble  at  being 
left  behind,  perhaps  because  they  were  learning  the 
unwisdom  of  grumbling  against  the  skipper's  or- 
ders, more  likely  because  they  did  not  care  a  dang 
if  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  was  ever  found  or  not,  dead 
or  alive.  Quinn  had  not  been  popular.  The  skip- 
per informed  his  two  companions  that  the  missing 
man  had  broken  into  his  house  and  robbed  him  of 
an  article  of  great  value. 

"  We  bes  sure  to  find  him  somewheres  handy," 
said  Bill  Brennen.  "  Foxey  Jack  was  always  a  fool 
about  the  weather  —  didn't  know  east  from  west 
when  the  wind  blowed.  What  was  it  he  robbed 
from  ye,  skipper?  " 

"  Whatever  it  was,  ye'll  both  git  yer  share  if 
we  finds  it,"  replied  the  skipper.  "  More  nor  that 
I  bain't  willin'  to  say." 

He  fixed  Bill  Brennen  with  a  glance  of  his  black 
eyes  that  made  that  worthy  tremble  from  his  scan- 
tily-haired scalp  to  the  soles  of  his  big,  shuffling 


66  The  Harbor  Master 

feet.  Bill  was  one  of  those  people  who  cannot  get 
along  without  a  master.  In  the  past,  for  lack  of 
another,  he  had  made  an  exacting  tyrant  out  of  a 
very  mild  and  loving  wife;  but  since  the  masterful 
opening  of  the  new  skipper's  reign  he  had  snapped 
his  fingers  at  his  wife,  who  had  ruled  him  for  close 
upon  twenty  years.  He  was  shrewd,  though  weak, 
and  his  heart  was  full  of  the  stuff  in  which  per- 
sonal loyalty  is  bred  and  fostered.  If  the  hand  that 
beat  him  was  the  hand  that  fed  him  —  the  hand 
of  his  master  —  then  the  beating  seemed  an  honor- 
able and  reasonable  thing  to  him.  True,  the  skipper 
had  not  yet  lifted  a  fist  to  him;  but  in  this  case 
darkling  glances  served  quite  as  well  as  blows.  Bill 
had  seen  the  strength  of  Dennis  from  the  first  and 
from  the  first  had  loved  it  as  a  thing  to  serve  — 
as  the  spirit  of  mastery.  Nick  Leary,  though  a 
much  younger  man  than  Bill  Brennen,  possessed  the 
same  spirit  of  service. 

The  three  searched  the  barrens  all  day,  from 
sun-up  to  dark,  north,  south  and  inland.  It  was 
a  gray  day,  sloppy  underfoot  and  raw  overhead. 
At  one  time  the  skipper  halted  and  lit  his  pipe 
within  three  yards  of  the  point  of  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  from  which  Quinn  had  pitched  to  his  death; 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     67 

but  wind,  snow  and  thaw  had  obliterated  all  trace 
of  those  blindly  staggering  feet.  The  searchers  ex- 
plored the  inner,  tangled  recesses  of  a  dozen  thick- 
ets of  spruce-tuck,  snarled  coverts  of  alders,  hol- 
lows hip-deep  in  sodden  snow,  and  the  pits  and 
rocky  shelters  of  knolls  and  hummocks. 

"  He  bes  hid  away  somewheres,  sure's  Saint 
Peter  was  a  fisherman/'  said  the  skipper. 

"  Axin'  yer  pardon,  skipper,  I  bes  t'inkin'  as 
how  maybe  he  bain't  dead,"  said  Nick  Leary,  hum- 
bly. "  Maybe  he  got  t' rough  to  Brig  Tickle,  sir, 
an'  from  the  Tickle  he'd  be  headin'  for  Witless 
Bay  this  very  minute." 

The  skipper  shook  his  head. 

"  There  bain't  a  man  on  the  coast  could  live 
t'rough  a  flurry  the  like  o'  that  widout  he  found 
shelter,"  he  replied.  "  He  bes  dead  somewheres 
widin  t'ree  or  four  mile  o'  Chance  Along,  ye  kin 
lay  to  that,  Nick." 

They  returned  to  the  harbor  after  dark  and  said 
not  a  word  to  the  others  about  the  business  that 
had  occupied  them  throughout  the  day;  Brennen 
and  Nick  Leary  were  asked  many  questions,  but 
they  lied  valiantly,  saying  that  they  had  been  spy- 
ing out  boat-timber.  Had  they  admitted  that  they 


68 


had  devoted  a  whole  day  to  searching  over  the 
barren  for  the  body  of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  a  sus- 
picion that  the  missing  man  had  carried  away  some- 
thing of  extraordinary  value  would  have  fired  the 
harbor  and  set  every  able-bodied  inhabitant  on  the 
quest.  That  would  not  have  suited  the  skipper's 
plans.  He  did  not  want  a  knowledge  of  the  neck- 
lace of  diamonds  and  rubies  to  become  general. 

Doubtless  the  search  for  Jack  Quinn  would  have 
been  continued  on  the  following  day  but  for  the 
unexpected  arrival  in  Chance  Along  of  the  good 
Father  McQueen.  The  missionary's  visits  were 
usually  unexpected.  He  came  now  from  the  north- 
ward, on  foot  and  unattended.  In  a  haversack  on 
his  sturdy  shoulders  he  carried  food,  two  books  of 
devotions  and  one  of  Irish  poetry,  and  his  vest- 
ments. Children  who  were  playing  a  game  called 
"  deer-hunting  "  on  the  barrens  behind  the  harbor 
were  the  first  to  know  of  the  priest's  approach. 
They  shouted  the  news  down  to  the  gray  cabins 
on  the  slope.  A  few  of  the  men  were  working  out 
among  the  rocks,  under  the  'skipper's  supervision; 
others  were  cobbling  skiffs  and  bullies  that  lay  high 
and  dry  beneath  the  empty  stages,  and  the  old  fel- 
lows were  sitting  around,  giving  advice  and  suck- 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     69 

ing  at  rank  pipes.  The  harbor  was  at  peace ;  and, 
what  was  still  more  unusual,  it  was  free  from 
hunger-fear.  By  the  skipper's  first  important  stroke 
of  business  his  reign  promised  to  be  prosperous, 
even  though  tyrannical.  At  word  that  Father 
McQueen  was  sighted  all  work  was  stopped.  The 
dories  among  the  outer  rocks  were  pulled  to  the 
land-wash.  The  men  left  their  tarring  and  caulking 
under  the  drying-stages.  Women  issued  from  the 
cabins  with  shawls  thrown  hastily  about  their  heads 
and  shoulders.  The  skipper  led  the  way  up  the 
twisty  path  to  the  level  wilderness  above.  There 
was  one  man  in  the  world  whom  he  feared  — 
feared  without  bitterness  even  as  he  did  the  saints 
on  their  thrones  of  gold.  That  man  was  Father 
McQueen. 

Cap  in  hand,  Black  Dennis  Nolan  took  the  haver- 
sack from  the  priest  and  slung  it  on  his  own  shoul- 
der. 

"  Ye've  walked  a  weary  way,  father,"  he  said. 
"  Ye  bes  mud  and  water  to  the  knees,  sir." 

"  But  a  step,  Denny.  Naught  but  a  step,  my 
son,"  replied  the  missionary,  cheerfully.  "  I  was 
in  Witless  Bay  for  two  holy  baptisms,  a  marriage 
an'  a  wake,  an'  I  just  took  the  notion  to  step  over 


70  The  Harbor  Master 

an'  see  ye  all  in  Chance  Along.  Pax  vobiscum,  all 
of  ye!  My  children,  ye  look  grand  an'  hearty. 
How  is  Mother  Nolan,  the  dear  old  body?  Spry  as 
ever,  ye  say?  Praise  the  saints  for  that." 

The  people,  men,  women,  and  children,  clustered 
round  him  with  beaming  faces,  and  in  return  he 
beamed  at  one  and  all,  and  spoke  to  a  dozen  by 
name.  He  leaned  on  the  skipper's  arm. 

"  But  it  bes  still  early  in  the  forenoon,  father," 
said  Dennis.  "  Where  did  yer  reverence  sleep  last 
night  then?" 

"  Snug  as  a  fox  in  his  den,  my  son,"  replied  the 
sturdy  old  man.  "  When  dark  came  on  I  found 
me  a  dry  cave  in  the  side  of  a  knoll,  an'  dry  moss 
an'  sticks  for  a  fire." 

"  It  bain't  right  for  yer  reverence  to  sleep  out 
these  rough  winter  nights,"  protested  the  skipper. 
"  Maybe  ye'll  be  gettin'  yer  death  one  o'  these 
nights,  sir." 

"  Nay,  Denny,  don't  ye  go  worryin'  about  me," 
said  the  priest.  "  I  am  as  tough  as  a  husky." 

He  descended  the  path  to  the  clustered  cabins, 
still  holding  the  skipper's  arm  and  with  the  popu- 
lace sliding  and  crowding  at  his  muddy  heels.  His 
gray  eyes  were  as  keen  as  they  were  kindly.  He 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     71 

remarked  several  of  the  great  iron  rings  on  the 
rocks  to  seaward. 

"What  are  ye  up  to  now,  Denny?"  he  asked, 
halting  for  a  moment,  and  pointing  with  a  plump 
but  strong  and  weather-beaten  hand. 

The  skipper's  black  eyes  followed  the  line  indi- 
cated. 

"  That  bes  a  grand  idee  o'  mine,  yer  reverence," 
he  answered,  after  a  moment's  hesitation.  "  Sure 
I'll  tell  ye  all  about  it,  sir,  after  ye  get  yerself  dry 
alongside  the  stove." 

"  Something  to  do  with  wrecks,  Denny  ?  "  que- 
ried the  priest. 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence,  it  bes  a  part  o'  the  gear 
for  salvin'  wrecks,"  returned  Nolan. 

At  the  skipper's  door  Father  McQueen  dismissed 
his  followers  with  a  blessing  and  a  promise  to  see 
them  all  after  dinner.  Then,  after  a  few  kindly 
words  to  Mother  Nolan,  he  entered  his  own  room, 
where  Cormick  had  a  fire  of  drift-wood  roaring  in 
the  chimney.  He  soon  returned  to  the  kitchen,  in 
socks  and  moccasins  of  the  skipper's,  a  rusty  cas- 
sock and  a  red  blanket.  The  innate  dignity  and 
virtue  of  the  old  man  gave  to  his  grotesque  attire 
the  seeming  of  robes  of  glory,  in  spite  of  the  very 


72  The  Harbor  Master 

human  twinkle  in  his  gray  eyes  and  the  shadow 
of  a  grin  about  the  corners  of  his  large  mouth. 
He  accepted  a  chair  close  to  the  stove  —  but  not 
the  most  comfortable  chair,  which  was  Mother 
Nolan's.  They  knew  his  nature  too  well  to  offer 
him  that.  The  skipper  gave  him  a  bowl  of  hot 
wine,  mulled  with  sugar  and  spices,  which  he  ac- 
cepted without  demur  and  sipped  with  relish.  Af- 
ter a  few  minutes  of  general  conversation,  during 
which  Mother  Nolan  expatiated  on  her  rheumatics, 
he  turned  to  the  skipper,  and  laid  a  hand  on  that 
young  giant's  knee. 

"  So  ye  are  preparing  gear  for  the  salving  of 
wrecks,  my  son?  "  he  queried. 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence,  we  bes  fixin'  chains  an' 
lines  among  the  rocks  so  as  maybe  we  kin  get  a  holt 
on  whatever  comes  ashore,"  replied  Nolan. 

"  A  good  idea,"  returned  the  other.  And  then, 
"  Have  ye  had  any  wrecks  already  this  winter  ?  " 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence,  there  be'd  one  in  Nolan's 
Cove." 

"  So?  Did  any  of  the  poor  souls  come  ashore 
alive?" 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence,  every  mother's  son  o'  them. 
They  come  ashore  in  their  boats,  sir,  an'  left  the 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     73 

ship  acrost  a  rock  wid  a  hole  in  her  bows  bigger 
nor  this  house." 

"  And  where  are  they  now?  " 

"  That  I  couldn't  tell,  yer  reverence.  They  set 
out  for  Nap  Harbor,  to  the  south,  that  very  night, 
an'  got  there  safe  an'  sound.  An'  I  heard  tell,  sir, 
as  how  they  sailed  from  Nap  Harbor  for  St.  John's 
in  a  fore-an'-after." 

The  priest  regarded  the  skipper  keenly. 

"  Safe  and  sound,  ye  say,  Denny?  " 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence,  safe  an'  sound,  wid  their 
clothes  on  their  backs  an'  food  an'  drink  in  their 
pockets  an'  their  bellies." 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  it,  Denny.  Ye  sent  them 
on  their  way  warmly  clad  and  full-fed;  but  I'm 
thinking,  my  son,  they  must  have  left  something 
behind  them?  It's  grand  wine  this,  Denny." 

"  Aye,  father,  it  bes  grand  wine.  It  came  out 
o'  the  wreck,  sir,  along  wid  a  skiff-load  o'  fancy 
grub.  There  bes  wine,  spirits  an'  tinned  stuff  in 
every  house  o'  the  harbor,  yer  reverence.  But  the 
cargo  weren't  no  manner  o'  use  to  us  —  an'  the 
hull  broke  up  an'  went  all  abroad  two  days  back." 

"  So  ye  got  nought  from  the  wreck  but  a  skiff- 
full  of  drink  and  food  ?  " 


74  The  Harbor  Master 

"  I  bain't  sayin'  that,  father  dear,  though  it  were 
as  peaceful  an'  dacent  a  wrack  as  ever  yer  reverence 
heard  tell  of.  Maybe  yer  reverence  bes  buildin' 
another  church  somewheres  ?  —  or  a  mission-house  ? 
—  or  sendin'  money  up-along  to  the  poor  hay- 
thens?" 

"  Aye,  Denny,  I  am  doing  all  these  things,"  re- 
plied the  priest.  "  Since  first  I  set  foot  on  New- 
foundland I  have  built  nine  little  churches,  twelve 
mission-houses  and  one  hospital  —  aye,  and  sent  a 
mint  of  money  to  the  poor  folk  of  other  lands. 
My  dear  parents  left  me  a  fortune  of  three  hun- 
dreds of  English  pounds  a  year,  Denny;  and  every 
year  I  give  two  hundred  and  fifty  pounds  of  that 
fortune  to  the  work  of  the  Holy  Church  and  beg 
and  take  twice  as  much  more  from  the  rich  to  give 
the  poor." 

The  skipper  nodded.  This  information  was  not 
new  to  him. 

"  I  was  thinkin',  yer  reverence,  as  how  some  day 
ye'd  maybe  be  buildin'  us  a  little  church  here  in 
Chance  Along,"  he  said. 

"  It  would  take  money,  my  son  —  money  and 
hard  work,"  returned  the  priest. 

"  Aye,  father  dear,  'twould  take  money  an'  work. 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     75 

There  bes  fifty  golden  sovereigns  I  knows  of  for 
yer  reverence." 

"  Clean  money  ?  " 

"  Aye,  yer  reverence." 

"  From  the  wreck,  Denny  ?  " 

"  Aye,  father  dear,  from  the  last  wrack." 

"  Without  blood  on  it,  my  son  ?  " 

"  Widout  so  much  as  a  drop  o'  blood  on  it,  so 
help  me  Saint  Peter !  " 

"  And  the  other  lads,  Denny  ?  Are  ye  the  only 
one  in  the  harbor  able  to  pay  me  something  for 
the  building  of  a  church?  " 

There  was  the  one  question  on  the  good  priest's 
tongue  and  another  in  his  clear  eyes. 

"  I  bes  skipper,  father  dear,  an'  takes  skipper's 
shares  and  pays  skipper's  shares,"  replied  Nolan. 
"  But  for  me  there'd  not  bin  one  bottle  o'  wine 
come  to  us  from  the  wrack  an'  the  poor  folks 
aboard  her  would  never  have  got  ashore  in  their 
boats  for  want  of  a  light  on  the  land-wash.  As  I 
kin  spare  ye  fifty  pounds  for  the  holy  work,  yer 
reverence,  there  bes  nineteen  men  o'  this  harbor 
kin  each  be  sparin'  ye  ten." 

Father  McQueen  nodded  his  gray  head. 

"  Then  we'll  have  the  little  church,  Denny,"  he 


76  The  Harbor  Master 

said.    "  Aye,  lad,  we'll  have  the  little  church  shining 
out  to  sea  from  the  cliffs  above  Chance  Along." 

Father  McQueen  was  a  good  man  and  a  good 
priest,  and  would  as  readily  have  given  his1  last 
breath  as  his  last  crust  of  bread  in  the  service  of 
his  Master;  but  for  the  past  thirty  years  he  had 
lived  and  worked  in  a  land  of  rocks,  fogs  and  want, 
among  people  who  snatched  a  livelihood  from  the 
sea  with  benumbed  fingers  and  wrists  pitted  deep 
with  scars  of  salt-water  boils.  He  had  seen  them 
risk  their  lives  for  food  on  the  black  rocks,  the 
grinding  ice  and  the  treacherous  tide;  and  now 
his  heart  felt  with  their  hearts,  his  eyes  saw  with 
their  eyes.  Their  bitter  birthright  was  the  harvest 
of  the  coastwise  seas;  and  he  now  realized  their 
real  and  ethical  right  to  all  that  they  might  gather 
from  the  tide,  be  it  cod,  caplin,  herrings  or  the 
timbers  and  freights  of  wrecked  ships.  He  saw 
that  a  wreck,  like  a  good  run  of  fish,  was  a  thing 
to  profit  by  thankfully  and  give  praise  to  the  saints 
for;  but  he  held  that  no  gift  of  God  was  to  be 
gathered  in  violence.  In  the  early  years  of  his 
work  he  had  heard  rumors  and  seen  indications  of 
things  that  had  fired  him  with  a  righteous  fury  and 
pity  —  rumors  and  hints  of  mariners  struggling 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     77 

landward  only  to  be  killed  like  so  many  seals  as 
they  reached  the  hands  to  which  they  had  looked 
for  succor.  The  poor  savages  who  had  committed 
such  crimes  as  this  had  at  first  failed  to  understand 
his  fury  and  disgust;  but  with  his  tongue  and  his 
strong  arms  he  had  driven  into  their  hearts  the  fear 
of  Holy  Church  and  of  the  Reverend  Patrick 
McQueen.  Even  the  wildest  and  dullest  members 
of  his  far-scattered  flock  learned  in  time  that  life 
was  sacred  —  even  the  life  of  a  half-dead  stranger 
awash  in  the  surf.  They  even  learned  to  refrain 
from  stripping  and  breaking  up  a  wrecked  or 
grounded  vessel  that  was  still  manned  by  a  pro- 
testing crew ;  and  with  the  fear  of  the  good  priest 
in  their  hearts  (even  though  he  was  a  hundred  miles 
away),  they  would  do  their  best  to  bring  the  un- 
fortunate mariners  safely  ashore  and  then  share  the 
vessel  with  the  hungry  sea. 

That  even  a  deserted  or  unpeopled  wreck  should 
be  common  property  may  not  seem  right  to  some 
people ;  but  it  seemed  right  to  Father  McQueen  — 
and  surely  he  should  know  what  was  right  and  what 
was  wrong!  It  was  sometime  about  the  date  of 
this  story  that  a  missionary  of  another  and  perhaps 
less  broad  and  human  creed  than  Father  McQueen's 


78  The  Harbor  Master 

wrote  to  his  bishop  in  the  spring,  "  Thanks  to  God 
and  two  wrecks  we  got  through  the  winter  without 
starving." 

Father  McQueen  did  not  hurry  away  from 
Chance  Along.  Six  months  had  passed  since  his 
last  visit  and  so  he  felt  that  this  section  of  his  flock 
demanded  both  time  and  attention.  His  way  of 
knowing  his  people  was  by  learning  their  outward 
as  well  as  their  inner  lives,  their  physical  and  also 
their  spiritual  being.  He  was  not  slow  to  see  and 
understand  the  skipper's  ambitions  and  something 
of  his  methods.  He  read  Black  Dennis  Nolan  for 
a  strong,  active,  masterful  and  relentless  nature. 
He  heard  of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn's  departure  and  of 
the  fight  at  the  edge  of  the  cliff  that  had  preceded 
it.  He  heard  also  that  Quinn  had  robbed  the  skip- 
per before  departing;  but  exactly  what  he  had 
robbed  him  of  he  could  not  learn.  He  questioned 
Dennis  himself  and  had  a  lesson  in  the  art  of  eva- 
sion. He  found  it  no  great  task  to  comfort  the 
woman  and  children  of  the  fugitive  Jack.  They 
were  well  fed  and  had  the  skipper's  word  that  they 
should  never  lack  food  and  clothing.  He  was  not 
surprised  to  learn  from  the  deserted  wife  that  the 
man  had  been  a  bully  at  home  as  well  as  abroad. 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     79 

For  his  own  part,  he  had  never  thought  very  highly 
of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn.  He  visited  every  cabin  in 
the  harbor,  and  those  that  sheltered  old  and  sick 
he  visited  many  times.  He  was  keenly  interested  in 
the  work  that  the  skipper  was  doing  among  the 
rocks  in  front  of  the  harbor,  and  did  not  fail  to 
point  out  persistently  and  authoritatively  that  chains 
and  ropes  designed  to  facilitate  the  saving  of 
freights  would  also  facilitate  the  saving  of  human 
lives.  The  skipper  agreed  with  him  respectfully. 

On  the  morning  of  Father  McQueen's  arrival  in 
Chance  Along,  the  skipper  dispatched  Nick  Leary 
to  Witless  Bay  to  learn  whether  or  no  Jack  Quinn 
had  reached  that  place.  Leary  returned  on  the 
evening  of  the  following  day  with  the  expected 
information  that  nothing  had  been  seen  of  the 
missing  man  in  Witless  Bay.  In  his  pocket  he 
brought  a  recent  issue  of  St.  John's  newspaper,  for 
which  he  had  paid  two  shillings  and  two  drams  of 
rum.  This  he  brought  as  an  offering  to  the  skip- 
per —  for  the  skipper  could  read  print  almost  as 
well  as  a  merchant  and  had  a  thirst  for  information 
of  the  outside  world. 

The  first  item  of  news  which  the  skipper  man- 
aged to  spell  out  was  the  notice  of  a  reward  of 


80  The  Harbor  Master 

five  hundred  pounds  awaiting  the  person  who 
should  recover  Lady  Harwood's  necklace  of  twelve 
diamonds  and  fourteen  rubies  and  deliver  it  to  Mr. 
Peter  Wren,  solicitor,  Water  Street,  St.  John's. 
The  notice  went  on  to  say  that  this  necklace,  to- 
gether with  other  smaller  and  less  valuable  articles 
of  jewelry,  had  been  taken  by  force  from  the  ship- 
wrecked company  of  the  bark  Durham  Castle,  which 
had  gone  ashore  and  to  pieces  in  a  desolate  place 
called  Frenchman's  Cove,  on  the  east  coast.  It  also 
gave  the  date  of  the  wreck  and  stated  that  if  the 
necklace  should  be  returned  undamaged,  no  ques- 
tions would  be  asked.  The  skipper  saw  in  a  mo- 
ment that  the  reward  was  offered  for  the  stones 
which  he  had  found  in  the  deserted  berth  and  which 
Quinn  had  robbed  him  of.  Five  hundred  pounds? 
He  shook  his  head  over  that.  He  had  read  some- 
where, at  some  time,  about  the  value  of  diamonds, 
and  he  felt  sure  that  the  necklace  was  worth  many 
times  the  money  offered  for  its  recovery.  So  the 
loss  of  it  was  known  to  the  world  ?  He  had  a  great 
idea  of  the  circulation  of  the  St.  John's  Herald. 
He  had  retired  to  a  secluded  spot  above  the  harbor 
to  read  the  paper,  and  now  he  glanced  furtively 
over  his  shoulder.  No  limb  of  the  law  was  in  sight. 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     81 

He  gazed  abroad  over  the  sodden,  gloomy  barrens 
and  reflected  bitterly  that  the  treasure  lay  there  in 
some  pit  or  hollow,  in  a  dead  man's  pocket,  perhaps 
within  shouting-distance  of  where  he  stood.  He 
swore  that  he  would  recover  it  yet  —  but  not  for 
the  reward  offered  by  Mr.  Peter  Wren  in  behalf 
of  Lady  Harwood.  He  re-read  the  notice  slowly, 
following  letter  and  word  with  muttering  lips  and 
tracing  finger.  Then,  at  a  sudden  thought  of  Father 
McQueen,  he  tore  away  that  portion  of  the  outer 
sheet  which  contained  the  notice. 

The  skipper  returned  to  his  house  and  found  the 
missionary  seated  beside  the  stove  chatting  with 
Mother  Nolan. 

"  Here  bes  a  paper,  yer  reverence,  Nick  Leary 
fetched  over  from  Witless  Bay,"  he  said.  "  It  bes 
tored,  sir;  but  maybe  ye'll  find  some  good  readin' 
left  in  it." 

The  good  father  was  charmed.  He  had  not  seen 
a  newspaper  for  six  weeks.  He  dragged  a  pair  of 
spectacles  from  a  pocket  of  his  rusty  cassock,  set 
them  upon  his  nose  and  hooked  them  over  his  ears, 
and  read  aloud  every  word  save  those  which  the 
skipper  had  torn  away. 

On   the   fourth   night   after   his   arrival   Father 


82  The  Harbor  Master 

McQueen  drew  a  plan  of  the  little  church  which  he 
intended  to  build  above  the  harbor. 

"  It  will  be  the  pride  of  the  coast  and  a  glory 
to  Chance  Along,"  he  said.  "  Denny,  I  am  proud 
of  ye  for  the  suggestion.  Ye  said  ye'd  give  me  a 
hundred  pounds  toward  it,  I  think?  " 

"  Fifty  pound,  yer  reverence !  Fifty  pound  bes 
what  I  offered  ye,  sir,"  returned  the  skipper,  with 
dismay  in  his  voice. 

Father  McQueen  sighed  and  shook  his  head.  A 
cold  thrill  of  anxiety  passed  through  Dennis  Nolan. 
With  the  good  father  displeased  there  would  be  an 
end  of  his  luck.  He  glanced  at  the  priest  and  saw 
that  he  was  still  shaking  his  head. 

The  skipper  loved  his  new  store  of  gold  because 
it  meant  the  beginning  of  a  fortune  and  therefore 
the  extension  of  his  power;  but  on  the  other  hand 
he  feared  that  to  displease  the  missionary  now  in 
the  matter  of  a  part  of  that  store  might  turn  the 
saints  themselves  against  him.  And  without  the 
good-will  of  the  saints  how  could  he  expect  his  share 
of  luck?  —  his  share  of  wrecks? 

"  I  has  seventy-five  pound  for  yer  reverence," 
he  said.  "  It  bes  a  powerful  sight  of  money,  father 
dear,  but  ye  bes  welcome  to  it." 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     83 

"  It  is  well,  my  son,"  returned  the  missionary. 

The  skipper  felt  a  glow  of  relief.  He  had 
avoided  the  risk  of  displeasing  the  saints  and  at  the 
same  time  had  saved  twenty-five  pounds.  Even 
when  you  earn  your  money  after  the  skipper's 
method,  twenty-five  pounds  looks  like  quite  a  con- 
siderable lump  of  money.  He  took  up  a  candle 
and  fetched  the  sum  in  yellow  English  sovereigns 
from  his  hiding-place. 

Father  McQueen  devoted  the  following  morning 
to  collecting  what  he  could  from  the  other  men 
of  the  harbor.  The  skipper  had  furnished  him  with 
a  list  of  all  who  had  shared  in  the  golden  harvest. 
It  began  to  look  as  if  the  church  would  be  a  fine 
one.  Not  satisfied  with  this,  he  issued  orders  that 
the  timber  was  to  be  cut  and  sawn  without  delay 
so  that  the  building  of  the  church  should  be  com- 
menced when  he  returned  to  Chance  Along  in  June. 
He  even  drew  up  specifications  of  the  lumber  that 
would  be  required  and  the  stone  for  the  foundation. 
Then,  leaving  in  the  skipper's  care  all  the  gold 
which  he  had  collected  for  the  sacred  edifice,  he 
marched  sturdily  away  toward  the  north.  The 
skipper  accompanied  him  and  carried  his  knapsack, 
for  ten  miles  of  the  way. 


84  The  Harbor  Master 

Two  days  after  the  missionary's  departure  a  gale 
blew  in  from  the  southeast;  and  at  the  first  gray 
of  a  roaring  dawn  the  look-out  from  Squid  Beach 
came  hammering  at  the  skipper's  door  with  news 
of  a  ship  on  the  rocks  under  the  cliffs  a  few  miles 
along  the  coast.  Every  man  and  boy  who  could 
swing  a  leg  turned  out.  The  gear  was  shouldered 
and  the  skipper  led  the  way  northward  at  a  run, 
lantern  in  hand.  They  found  the  wreck  about  a 
mile  north  of  Squid  Beach,  close  against  the  face 
of  the  cliff.  She  had  struck  with  her  port-bow  and 
was  listed  sharply  landward.  The  seas  beat  so 
furiously  upon  her  that  every  seventh  comer  washed 
her  clean  and  sent  the  spray  smoking  over  her 
splintered  spars.  She  showed  no  sign  of  life.  She 
lay  in  so  desperate  a  place  that  even  Black  Dennis 
Nolan,  with  all  his  gear  and  wits,  could  do  nothing 
but  wait  until  the  full  fury  of  the  gale  should 
diminish. 

It  was  close  upon  noon  when  the  first  line  was 
made  fast  between  the  cliff  and  the  broken  fore- 
mast of  the  wreck.  The  wind  had  slackened  and 
the  seas  fallen  in  a  marked  degree  by  this  time. 
Looking  down  from  the  cliff  the  men  of  Chance 
Along  could  see  the  slanted  deck,  cleared  of  all 


Father  McQueen  Visits  His  Flock     85 

superstructures  and  bulwarks,  the  stumps  of  spars 
with  only  the  foremast  intact  to  the  cross-trees  and 
a  tangle  of  rigging,  yards,  canvas  and  tackle  awash 
against  the  face  of  the  cliff.  Something  —  a 
swathed  human  figure,  perhaps  —  was  lashed  in 
the  fore-top. 

The  skipper  was  the  first  to  venture  a  passage 
from  the  edge  of  the  cliff  to  the  foremast.  He 
made  it  with  several  life-lines  around  his  waist. 
He  reached  the  bundle  lashed  to  the  cross-trees 
and,  clinging  with  hands  and  feet,  looked  into  the 
face  of  an  unconscious  but  living  woman.  So  he 
hung  for  a  long  half-minute,  staring.  Then,  hoist- 
ing himself  up  to  a  more  secure  position,  he  pulled 
a  flask  of  brandy  from  his  pocket. 

So  Black  Dennis  Nolan  brought  back  to  con- 
sciousness the  person  who  was  to  be  the  undoing 
of  his  great  plans ! 


CHAPTER   VI 

THE   GIRL   FROM    THE    CROSS-TREES 

CLINGING  to  the  cross-trees,  with  the  winter  seas 
smoking  over  the  slanted  deck  beneath  him  and 
the  whole  wrenched  fabric  of  the  ship  quaking  at 
every  sloshing  blow,  Black  Dennis  Nolan  pressed 
the  mouth  of  the  flask  to  the  girl's  colorless  lips. 
A  lurch  of  the  hull  sent  the  brandy  streaming  over 
her  face;  but  in  a  second  and  better-timed  attempt 
he  succeeded  in  forcing  a  little  of  it  between  her 
teeth.  He  pulled  the  glove  from  her  left  hand  — 
a  glove  of  brown  leather  lined  with  gray  fur  and 
sodden  with  water  —  and  rubbed  the  icy  palm  and 
wrist  with  the  liquor.  There  were  several  rings  on 
the  fingers;  but  he  scarcely  noticed  them.  He 
thought  of  nothing  but  the  girl  herself.  Never 
before  had  he  seen  or  dreamed  of  such  a  face  as 
hers,  and  a  breathless  desire  possessed  him  to  see 
her  eyes  unveiled.  He  worked  feverishly,  heedless 
of  the  yeasting  seas  beneath,  of  the  wind  that  wor- 
ried at  him  as  if  it  would  tear  him  from  his  leaping 

86 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         87 

perch,  of  the  wealth  of  cargo  under  the  reeking 
deck  and  the  men  of  Chance  Along  on  the  edge 
of  the  cliff.  He  returned  the  glove  to  the  left  hand 
with  fumbling  fingers,  stripped  the  other  hand  and 
rubbed  it  with  brandy.  After  finishing  with  this 
and  regloving  it  he  glanced  again  at  the  girl's  face. 
The  wet  lashes  stirred,  the  pale  lids  fluttered  and 
blinked  wide  and  two  wonderful  eyes  gazed  up  at 
him.  The  eyes  were  clear  yet  with  cross-lights  at 
their  depths,  like  the  water  of  a  still  pool  floored 
with  sand  and  touched  with  the  first  level  gleams 
of  sunrise.  They  were  sea-eyes  —  sea-gray,  sea- 
blue,  with  a  hint  even  of  sea-green.  Never  before 
had  the  master  of  Chance  Along  seen  or  dreamed 
of  such  eyes. 

The  skipper  was  strangely  and  deeply  stirred  by 
the  clear,  inquiring  regard  of  those  eyes;  but, 
despite  his  dreams  and  ambitions,  he  was  an  emi- 
nently practical  young  man.  He  extended  the  flask 
and  held  it  to  her  lips  with  a  trembling  hand. 

"  Ye  must  swallow  some  more  o'  this,"  he  said. 
"  Twill  take  the  chill  out  o'  ye." 

The  girl  opened  her  lips  obediently  and  swal- 
lowed a  little  of  the  spirits;  but  her  crystal  gaze 
did  not  waver  from  his  face. 


88  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Am  I  saved?  "  she  asked,  quietly. 

"  Aye,  ye  bes  saved,"  answered  the  skipper,  more 
than  ever  confused  by  the  astonishing  clearness  and 
music  of  her  voice  and  the  fearless  simplicity  of 
her  question.  He  scrambled  to  his  feet,  holding  to 
the  stump  of  the  topmast  with  his  right  arm  (for 
the  spar  whipped  and  sprang  to  the  impact  of  every 
sea  upon  the  hull),  and  looked  at  his  men  on  the 
edge  of  the  cliff.  He  saw  that  they  were  shouting 
to  him,  but  the  wind  was  in  their  teeth  and  so  not 
a  word  of  their  bellowing  reached  him.  By  signals 
and  roarings  down  the  wind  he  got  the  order  to 
them  to  bend  a  heavy  line  on  to  the  shore  end  of 
one  of  the  light  lines  attached  to  his  waist.  He 
dragged  the  hawser  in  with  some  difficulty,  made 
it  fast  to  the  cross-trees,  and  then  rigged  a  kind  of 
running  boatswain's  chair  from  a  section  of  the 
loose  rigging.  He  made  the  end  of  one  line  fast 
just  below  the  loop  of  the  chair  on  the  hawser. 
The  second  line  was  around  his  chest  and  the  ends 
of  both  were  in  the  hands  of  the  men  ashore.  With- 
out a  word  he  cut  the  girl's  lashings,  lifted  her  in 
his  arms  and  took  his  seat.  He  waved  his  left  arm 
and  the  lads  on  the  cliff  put  their  backs  into  the  pull. 

The  passage  was  a  terrific  experience  though  the 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         89 

distance  between  the  cross-trees  and  the  top  of  the 
cliff  was  not  great.  Neither  the  girl  nor  the  skip- 
per spoke  a  word.  He  held  her  tight  and  she  hid 
her  face  against  his  shoulder.  Fifteen  of  the  men, 
under  the  orders  of  Bill  Brennen,  held  the  shore- 
end  of  the  hawser.  When  the  mast  swung  toward 
the  cliff  they  took  up  the  slack,  thus  saving  the  two 
from  being  dashed  against  the  face  of  the  rock,  by 
rushing  backward.  When  the  mast  whipped  to  sea- 
ward they  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  cliff.  Five 
others  hauled  on  each  of  the  lines  whenever  the 
hawser  was  nearly  taut,  and  paid  out  and  pulled  in 
with  the  slackening  and  tightening  of  the  larger 
rope.  But  even  so,  the  sling  in  which  the  skipper 
and  the  girl  hung  was  tossed  about  desperately,  now 
dropped  toward  the  boiling  rocks,  now  twirled  like 
a  leaf  in  the  gale,  and  next  moment  jerked  aloft 
and  flung  almost  over  the  straining  hawser.  But 
the  skipper  had  the  courage  of  ten  and  the  strength 
and  endurance  of  two.  He  steadied  and  fended 
with  his  left  hand  and  held  the  girl  firmly  against 
him  with  his  right.  She  clung  to  him  and  did  not 
whimper  or  struggle.  A  group  of  men,  unham- 
pered by  any  duty  with  the  ropes,  crouched  and 
waited  on  the  very  edge  of  the  cliff.  At  last  they 


90  The  Harbor  Master 

reached  out  and  down,  clutched  the  skipper  and 
his  burden,  and  with  a  mighty  roar  dragged  them 
to  safety. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  staggered  to  his  feet,  still 
clasping  the  girl  in  his  arms.  He  reeled  away  to 
where  a  clump  of  stunted  spruces  made  a  shelter 
against  the  gale  and  lowered  her  to  the  ground, 
still  swathed  in  blankets. 

"  Start  a  fire,  some  o'  ye,"  he  commanded. 

The  men  looked  curiously  at  the  young  woman 
in  the  drenched  blankets,  then  hastened  to  do  the 
skipper's  bidding.  They  found  dry  wood  in  the 
heart  of  the  thicket  and  soon  had  a  fire  burning 
strongly. 

"  What  of  the  others  ?  Am  I  the  —  the  only 
one?  "  asked  the  girl. 

"  Aye,  ye  bes  the  only  one  —  so  far  as  we  kin 
see,"  replied  the  skipper.  "  There  bain't  no  more 
lashed  to  the  spars  anyhow." 

She  stared  at  him  for  a  moment,  then  crouched 
close  to  the  fire,  covered  her  face  with  her  hands, 
and  wept  bitterly.  The  skipper  groaned.  The  tears 
of  Lady  Harwood  had  not  moved  him  in  the  least; 
but  this  girl's  sobs  brought  a  strangling  pinch  to 
his  own  throat.  He  told  two  lads  to  keep  the  fire 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         91 

burning,  and  then  turned  and  walked  away  with 
lagging  feet.  Joining  the  men  who  were  still  tend- 
ing the  line  that  was  attached  to  the  wreck,  he  gazed 
down  at  the  scene  of  tumult  and  pounding  destruc- 
tion without  a  word. 

"  The  gale  bes  blowin'  herself  out,  skipper,"  re- 
marked Bill  Brennen. 

Nolan  stared  blankly  for  a  moment,  then  aroused 
himself  furiously  from  the  strange  spell  that  had 
enthralled  his  mind  since  first  he  had  looked  at  the 
face  of  the  girl  lashed  to  the  cross-trees.  He  swore 
violently,  then  flung  himself  full-length  at  the  very 
edge  of  the  cliff,  and  studied  the  position  of  the 
stranded  vessel.  He  saw  that  she  was  firm  on  the 
rocks  for  almost  half  her  length.  She  was  badly 
ripped  and  stove,  but  her  back  was  not  broken.  She 
seemed  to  be  in  no  danger  of  slipping  off  into  deep 
water,  and  as  the  wind  and  seas  were  moderating, 
she  promised  to  hold  together  for  several  hours 
at  least.  He  got  to  his  feet  and  gave  his  opin- 
ion of  the  situation  to  the  men  as  if  it  were  a 
law. 

"  She  bes  hard  an'  fast,"  he  said.  "  Wid  the 
weather  liftin',  she'll  not  fall  abroad  yet  awhile, 
nor  she  don't  be  in  any  risk  o'  slidin'  astarn  an' 


92  The  Harbor  Master 

founderin'.  We  has  plenty  o'  time  to  break  out 
the  cargo,  men,  after  the  sea  quiets  a  bit.  Aye, 
plenty  o'  time  to  sculp  her.  Now,  I  wants  four 
o'  ye  to  rig  up  a  hammock  o'  some  sort,  wid  lines 
an'  a  tarpaulin,  an'  help  me  tote  the  lady  back-along 
to  the  harbor.  Step  lively,  men !  " 

A  few  of  the  men  ventured  to  show  something 
of  the  amazement  which  they  all  felt  by  staring 
at  him,  round-eyed  and  open-mouthed;  but  he 
glared  them  down  in  short  order.  So  four  of  them 
set  about  the  construction  of  a  hammock  and  the 
others  crowded  along  the  cliff  and  gazed  down  at 
the  unfortunate  ship.  For  awhile  they  gazed  in 
silence;  for  wonder,  and  the  fear  of  the  skipper, 
were  heavy  upon  them.  What  madness  was  this 
that  had  so  suddenly  come  upon  him?  Had  pros- 
perity and  power  already  turned  his  head?  Or 
could  it  be  that  the  young  woman  he  had  found 
on  the  wreck  was  a  fairy  of  some  kind,  and  had 
bewitched  him  with  the  glance  of  her  sea-eyes? 
Or  perhaps  she  was  a  mermaid?  Or  perhaps  she 
was  nothing  but  a  human  who  had  been  born  on 
an  Easter  Sunday  —  an  Easter  child.  Strange  and 
potent  gifts  of  entrancing,  and  of  looking  into  the 
future,  are  bestowed  upon  Easter  children  of  the 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         93 

female  sex  by  the  fairies.  Every  one  knows  that! 
Whatever  the  girl  might  be,  it  was  an  astounding 
thing  for  Black  Dennis  Nolan  to  turn  his  back  on 
a  stranded  and  unlooted  vessel  to  escort  a  stranger 
—  aye,  or  even  a  friend  —  to  shelter.  They  knew 
that,  for  all  his  overbearing  and  hard-fisted  ways 
toward  men,  he  was  kind  to  women;  but  this  mat- 
ter seemed  to  them  a  thing  of  madness  rather  than 
of  kindness;  and  never  before  had  they  known  him 
to  show  any  sign  of  infatuation.  They  glanced 
over  their  shoulders,  and,  seeing  the  skipper  some 
distance  off,  supervising  the  construction  of  the 
hammock,  they  began  to  whisper  and  surmise. 

"  Did  ye  mark  the  glint  in  the  eyes  o'  her,  Pat?  " 
inquired  one  of  another.  "  Sure,  lad,  'twas  like 
what  I  once  see  before  —  an'  may  the  holy  saints 
presarve  me  from  seein'  it  agin!  'Twas  the  day, 
ten  year  back  come  July,  when  I  see  the  mermaid 
in  Pike's  Arm,  down  nort'  on  the  Labrador,  when 
I  was  hook-an'-linin'  for  Skipper  McDoul  o'  Har- 
bor Grace.  She  popped  the  beautiful  head  o'  her 
out  o'  the  sea  widin  reach  o'  a  paddle  o'  me  skiff 
an'  shot  a  glimp  at  me  out  o'  her  two  eyes  that 
turned  me  heart  to  fire  an'  me  soul  to  ice,  an'  come 
pretty  nigh  t'rowin'  me  into  the  bay." 


94  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Aye,"  returned  the  other  in  a  husky  whisper. 
"  Aye,  ye  bes  talkin'  now,  Tim  Leary.  Sure,  bain't 
that  power  o'  the  glimp  o'  the  eye  a  mark  o'  the 
mermaid  ?  They  bewitches  a  man's  heart,  does  mer- 
maids, an'  kills  the  eternal  soul  of  him!  Sure,  b'y! 
Didn't  me  own  great-gran' father,  who  sailed  for- 
eign viyages  out  o'  Witless  Bay,  clap  his  own  two 
eyes  on  to  one  o'  they  desperate  sea-critters  one 
night  he  was  standin'  his  trick  at  the  wheel,  one 
day  nort'  o'  Barbados?  Sure,  b'y!  He  beared  a 
whisper  behind  him,  like  a  whisper  o'  music,  and 
when  he  turned  his  head  'round  there  she  was, 
nat'ral  as  any  girl  o'  the  harbor,  a-gleamin'  her 
beautiful,  grand  eyes  at  him  in  the  moonshine.  An' 
when  he  come  ashore  didn't  he  feel  so  desperate 
lonesome  that  he  died  o'  too  much  rum  inside  the 
year,  down  on  the  land-wash  wid  his  two  feet  in 
the  sea?" 

"  Aye,  Pat,"  returned  Tim,  "  but  I  bain't  sayin' 
as  this  one  bes  a  mermaid.  She  was  lashed  to  the 
cross-trees  like  any  human." 

"  An'  that  would  be  a  mermaid's  trick,"  retorted 
the  other.  "  Where  be  the  other  poor  humans, 
then?" 

At  that  moment  the  skipper  approached. 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         95 

"  Mind  the  wrack,  men,"  said  he.  "  Make  fast 
some  more  lines  to  her,  if  ye  kin.  I'll  be  back  wid 
ye  afore  long." 

The  hammock  was  swung  on  a  pole.  Four  men 
and  the  skipper  accompanied  the  girl  from  the 
wreck,  two  carrying  the  hammock  for  the  first  half 
of  the  journey  and  the  relay  shouldering  it  for  the 
second  spell.  The  skipper  walked  alongside.  The 
girl  lay  back  among  the  blankets,  which  had  been 
dried  at  the  fire,  silent  and  with  her  eyes  closed 
for  the  most  part.  It  was  evident  that  her  terri- 
ble experience  had  sapped  both  her  physical  and 
mental  vitality.  She  had  been  lashed  to  the  cross- 
trees  of  the  foremast  soon  after  the  ship  had  struck 
the  rocks,  and  fully  eight  hours  before  Black  Dennis 
Nolan  had  released  her.  The  second  mate,  who 
had  carried  her  up  and  lashed  her  there,  had  been 
flung  to  his  death  by  the  whipping  of  the  mast  a 
moment  after  he  had  made  the  last  loop  fast  about 
her  blanketed  form.  She  had  been  drenched  and 
chilled  by  the  flying  spume  and  the  spray  that  burst 
upward  and  outward  from  the  foot  of  the  cliff. 
The  wind  had  snatched  the  breath  from  her  lips, 
deafened  her,  blinded  her,  and  driven  the  cold  to 
her  very  bones.  The  swaying  and  leaping  of  the 


96  The  Harbor  Master 

spar  had  at  last  jarred  and  wrenched  her  to  a  state 
of  insensibility. 

She  spoke  only  three  times  during  the  journey. 

"  I  would  have  died  if  I  had  been  left  there  a 
little  longer.  You  were  brave  to  save  me  as  you 
did.  What  is  your  name  ?  " 

"  Aye,  'twas  a  terrible  place  for  ye,"  replied  the 
skipper.  "  I  bes  Dennis  Nolan,  skipper  o'  Chance 
Along;  an'  now  I  bes  takin'  ye  to  my  granny, 
Mother  Nolan,  an'  a  grand,  warm  house.  Ye'll 
have  Father  McQueen's  own  bed,  for  he  bes 
away  till  June,  an'  a  fire  in  the  chimley  all 
day." 

Her  only  answer  was  to  gaze  at  him  with  a 
look  of  calm,  faint  interest  for  a  moment  and 
then  close  her  eyes.  Ten  minutes  later  she  spoke 
again. 

"  The  Royal  William  was  bound  for  New  York," 
she  said.  "  There  were  ten  passengers  aboard  her. 
My  maid  was  with  me  —  a  Frenchwoman." 

This  was  Greek  to  the  skipper,  and  he  mumbled 
an  unintelligible  answer.  What  could  she  mean  by 
her  maid?  Her  daughter?  No,  for  she  was 
scarcely  more  than  a  girl  herself  —  and  in  any  case, 
her  daughter  would  not  be  a  Frenchwoman.  As 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         97 

they  reached  the  broken  edge  of  the  barrens  above 
Chance  Along  she  spoke  for  the  third  time. 

"  In  London  I  sang  before  the  Queen,"  she  said, 
this  time  without  raising  her  pallid  lids.  Her  lips 
scarcely  moved.  Her  voice  was  low  and  faint,  but 
clear  as  the  chiming  of  a  silver  bell.  "  And  now 
I  go  to  my  own  city  —  to  New  York  —  to  sing. 
They  will  listen  now,  for  I  am  famous.  You  will 
be  well  paid  for  what  you  have  done  for  me." 

The  skipper  could  make  little  enough  of  this  talk 
of  singing  before  the  Queen;  but  he  understood 
the  mention  of  making  payment  for  his  services, 
and  his  bitter  pride  flared  up.  He  gripped  the  edge 
of  the  hammock  roughly. 

"  Would  ye  be  payin'  me  for  this  ? "  he  ques- 
tioned. "Would  ye,  I  say?  Nay,  not  ye  nor  the 
Queen  herself !  I  have  money  enough !  I  bes  mas- 
ter o'  this  harbor!  " 

She  opened  her  wonderful,  clear,  sea-eyes  at 
that,  full  upon  his  flushed  face,  and  he  saw  the 
clear  cross-lights  in  their  depths.  She  regarded 
him  calmly,  with  a  suggestion  of  mocking  interest, 
until  his  own  glance  wavered  and  turned  aside. 
He  felt  again  the  surging  of  his  heart's  blood  — 
but  now,  across  and  through  the  surging,  a  chill 


98  The  Harbor  Master 

as  of  fear.  The  flush  of  offended  pride  faded  from 
his  cheeks. 

"  Of  course  I  shall  pay  you  for  saving  my  life," 
she  said,  coolly  and  conclusively. 

The  skipper  was  not  accustomed  to  such  treat- 
ment, even  from  a  woman;  but  without  a  word  by 
way  of  retort  he  steadied  the  hammock  in  its  de- 
scent of  the  twisting  path  as  if  his  very  life  depended 
upon  the  stranger's  comfort.  The  women,  children 
and  very  old  men  of  the  harbor  —  all  who  had  not 
gone  to  the  scene  of  the  wreck  save  the  bedridden 
—  came  out  of  the  cabins,  asked  questions  and 
stared  in  wonder  at  the  lady  in  the  hammock.  The 
skipper  answered  a  few  of  their  questions  and 
waved  them  out  of  the  way.  They  fell  back  in 
staring  groups.  The  skipper  ran  ahead  of  the  litter 
to  his  own  house  and  met  Mother  Nolan  on  the 
threshold. 

"  Here  bes  a  poor  young  woman  from  a  wrack, 
granny,"  he  explained.  "  She  bes  nigh  perished 
wid  the  cold  an'  wet.  Ye'll  give  her  yer  bed, 
granny,  till  the  fire  bes  started  in  Father  McQueen's 
room." 

"Saints  save  us,  Denny!"  exclaimed  Mother 
Nolan.  "  First  it  bes  diamonds  wid  ye,  an'  now 


The  Girl  From  the  Cross-trees         99 

it  bes  a  young  woman.  Wracks  will  sure  be  the 
ruin  o'  ye  yet,  Denny  Nolan!  This  way,  b'ys,  an' 
give  me  a  sight  o'  the  poor  lamb.  Lay  her  here 
an'  take  yer  tarpaulin  away  wid  ye.  Holy  saints 
fend  us  all,  but  she  bes  dead  —  an'  a  great  lady 
at  that!" 

The  stranger  opened  her  eyes  and  looked  at  the 
old  woman.  Her  wonderful  eyes  seemed  to  be- 
witch Mother  Nolan,  even  as  they  had  bewitched 
the  skipper.  The  old  dame  stared,  trembled  and 
babbled.  Turning  to  the  gaping  men,  including 
Denny,  she  cried  to  them  to  get  out  where  they 
belonged  and  shut  the  door  after  them.  They 
obeyed,  treading  on  each  other's  heels.  Even  the 
skipper  departed,  though  reluctantly. 

"  May  every  hair  o'  yer  head  turn  into  a  wax 
candle  to  light  ye  to  glory,"  babbled  the  old  woman, 
as  she  unwound  the  coarse  blankets  from  about  the 
girl's  unresisting  body.  The  other  smiled  faintly. 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  lighted  to  glory  —  just 
now,"  she  said.  "  I  must  sing  in  New  York  —  to 
my  own  people  —  just  as  I  sang  before  the  Queen 
in  London.  But  now  I  am  so  cold  —  and  so 
tired." 

Mother  Nolan  gaped  at  her. 


100  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Glory  be !  "  she  whispered.  "  Eyes  like  fairies' 
eyes  an'  a  voice  like  a  mermaid's!  An'  the  little 
white  hands  of  her,  soft  as  cream!  An'  the  beau- 
tiful rings!  Glory  be!" 


CHAPTER    VII 

THE   GOLD   OF   THE   "  ROYAL    WILLIAM  " 

THE  skipper  and  his  four  companions  returned 
to  the  cliff  above  the  wreck,  the  skipper  striding 
ahead,  silent,  deep  in  a  mental  and  spiritual  unrest 
that  was  thought  without  reflection.  The  others 
followed,  whispering  among  themselves  but  afraid 
to  question  their  leader.  The  wind  had  fallen  to  a 
breeze  by  the  time  they  reached  the  point  of  the 
cliff  overlooking  .the  slanted  deck  of  the  stranded 
ship.  Also,  the  seas  had  lost  much  of  their  height 
and  violence,  and  the  tide  was  ebbing.  The  group 
on  the  cliff's  edge  eyed  the  skipper  inquiringly, 
furtively,  as  he  joined  them.  He  strode  through 
them  and  looked  down  at  the  wreck.  His  face 
lightened  in  a  flash  and  his  dark  eyes  gleamed. 

"What  did  I  tell  ye!"  he  cried.  "Now  she 
lays  steady  as  a  house,  all  ready  to  be  gutted  like 
a  fish.  Pass  a  couple  o'  lines  this  way,  men.  Take 
in  the  slack  o'  the  hawser  an*  make  her  fast  to 

101 


102  The  Harbor  Master 

yonder  nub  o'  rock.  Nick  Leary,  follow  after  me 
wid  that  block  an'  pulley.  Bill,  rig  yer  winch  a 
couple  o'  yards  this  way  an'  stake  her  down.  Keep 
ten  men  wid  ye  —  an'  the  rest  o'  ye  can  follow 
me.  But  not  too  close,  mind  ye!  Fetch  yer  axes 
along,  an'  every  man  o'  ye  a  line." 

Three  minutes  later,  the  skipper  was  sliding 
down  the  foremast,  with  Nick  Leary  close  above 
him,  another  man  already  on  the  cross-trees  and 
yet  another  in  mid-air  on  the  hawser.  The  skipper 
reached  the  slanted  deck  and  slewed  down  into  the 
starboard  scuppers,  snatched  hold  of  a  splintered 
fragment  of  the  bulwarks  in  time  to  save  himself 
from  pitching  overboard,  steadied  himself  for  a 
moment  and  then  crawled  aft.  Leary,  profiting  by 
the  skipper's  experience  in  the  scuppers,  made  a 
line  fast  to  the  butt  of  the  foremast,  clawed  his 
way  up  the  slant  of  the  deck  to  port,  scrambled  aft 
until  he  was  fairly  in  line  with  the  stump  of  the 
mainmast,  and  then  let  himself  slide  until  checked 
in  his  course  by  that  battered  section  of  spar. 
Taking  a  turn  around  it  with  his  line,  he  again 
clawed  to  port,  and  scrambled  aft  again.  His  sec- 
ond slide  to  starboard  brought  him  to  the  splintered 
companionway  of  the  main  cabin.  Here  he  re- 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    103 

moved  the  end  of  the  rope  from  his  waist  and  made 
it  fast,  thus  rigging  a  life-line  from  the  butt  of 
the  foremast  aft  to  the  cabin  for  the  use  of  those 
to  follow.  It  had  been  a  swift  and  considerate  piece 
of  work.  The  men  on  the  cliff  cheered.  Nick 
waved  his  hand  to  the  cliff,  shouted  a  caution  to 
the  man  at  that  moment  descending  the  foremast, 
and  then  swung  himself  down  into  four  feet  of 
water  and  the  outer  cabin. 

"  Where  be  ye,  skipper?  "  he  bawled. 

"  This  way,  Nick.  Fair  aft,"  replied  the  skipper. 
"  Keep  to  port  or  ye'll  have  to  swim.  I  bes  in 
the  captain's  berth;  an'  here  bes  his  dispatch  box, 
high  an'  dry  in  his  bunk." 

Nick  made  his  way  aft,  through  the  length  of 
the  outer  cabin  as  quickly  as  he  could,  with  the 
water  to  his  chin  as  he  stooped  forward  in  his 
efforts  toward  speed,  entered  an  inner  and  smaller 
cabin  by  a  narrow  door  and  finally  swam  into  the 
captain's  own  state-room.  He  grasped  the  edge  of 
the  berth  in  which  the  skipper  crouched. 

"  Hell !  I  bes  nigh  perished  entirely  wid  the  cold, 
skipper!  "  he  cried. 

"  Then  swallow  this,"  said  the  skipper,  leaning 
down  and  tilting  a  bottle  of  brandy  to  the  other's 


104  The  Harbor  Master 

lips.  "  I  found  it  right  here  in  the  bunk,  half- 
empty;  aye,  an'  two  more  like  it,  but  wid  nary  a 
drop  in  'em.  There,  Nick,  that  bes  enough  for  ye." 

Leary  dragged  himself  up  beside  the  skipper. 
As  the  deadlight  had  been  closed  over  the  port, 
the  state-room  was  illumined  only  by  a  gray  half- 
gloom  from  the  cabin. 

"  This  bunk  bes  nigh  full  o'  junk,"  said  Nolan. 
"  The  skipper  o'  this  ship  must  ha'  slept  in  the 
lower  bunk  an'  kept  his  stores  here.  Here  bes  t'ree 
boxes  wid  the  ship's  gold  an'  papers,  I  take  it;  an' 
a  medicine-chest,  by  the  smell  o'  it;  an'  an  entire 
case  o'  brandy,  by  Garge!  Sure,  Nick,  it  bes  no 
wonder  he  got  off  his  course!  Take  another  suck 
at  the  bottle,  Nick,  an'  then  get  overside  wid  ye 
an'  pass  out  these  boxes." 

Nick  was  still  deriving  warmth  from  the  bottle 
when  a  third  man  entered  the  state-room,  with  just 
his  head  and  neck  above  water. 

"  She  bes  down  by  the  starn  desperate,  skipper," 
he  said.  "  Saints  presarve  me,  I  bes  ice  to  the 
bones ! " 

At  a  word  from  the  skipper,  the  last  arrival  took 
the  bottle  from  Leary.  Others  reached  the  scene 
of  action  and  the  three  iron  boxes  and  the  case  of 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    105 

brandy  were  soon  safe  on  deck.  From  there  they 
were  winched  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff. 

"  We'll  break  into  the  lazaret  when  the  tide  bes 
out,"  said  the  skipper.  "  She'll  drain  out,  ye  can 
lay  to  that,  wid  a  hole  in  her  as  big  as  the  roof  o' 
a  house." 

They  salvaged  a  few  cases  of  tinned  provisions 
from  the  steward's  pantry.  Five  state-rooms  were 
situated  on  either  side  of  the  main  or  outer  cabins. 
They  looted  those  to  port  first,  where  .  the  water 
was  only  a  few  feet  deep,  finding  little  but  clothing 
and  bedding  and  one  leather  purse  containing  thirty 
pounds  in  gold.  The  skipper  put  the  purse  into  a 
submerged  pocket,  and  sent  the  other  stuff  to  the 
deck,  to  be  winched  aloft.  The  cabins  on  the  star- 
board side  contained  but  little  of  value.  A  few 
leather  boxes  and  bags  were  sent  up  unopened. 
The  water  was  still  shoulder-deep  to  starboard. 
The  door  of  the  fifth  room  on  the  starboard  side 
was  fastened.  The  skipper  pulled  and  jerked  at  it, 
then  lowered  his  head  beneath  the  water,  and  saw 
that  it  was  locked  on  the  inside.  But  the  lock  was 
a  light  one,  and  the  wood  of  the  door  was  not 
heavy.  He  called  for  a  capstan-bar;  and  in  spite 
of  the  fact  that  he  had  to  strike  blindly  under  sev- 


106  The  Harbor  Master 

eral  feet  of  water,  the  lock  was  soon  shattered.  By 
this  time,  a  dozen  men  were  clustered  around,  their 
curiosity  and  greed  uncooled  by  the  cold  water  to 
their  shoulders. 

"  There  bes  somethin'  wort'  salvin'  in  there,  ye 
kin  lay  to  that !  "  said  one. 

"The  passengers'  store-room,  I  bes  a-t'inkin'," 
said  another. 

"  Naught  but  the  sail-locker,"  said  a  third. 
"  D'ye  look  to  find  gold  an'  dimins  in  every 
blessed  corner  o'  every  blessed  ship  ? " 

At  that  moment  the  skipper  pulled  the  narrow 
door  open  to  its  full  extent.  The  water  inside 
swirled  out  to  fill  the  eddy  made  by  the  opening 
of  the  door;  and  then,  slow,  terrible,  wide-eyed, 
floating  breast-high  in  the  flood,  a  woman  drifted 
out  of  the  narrow  room  into  the  midst  of  the  ex- 
pectant men.  Death  had  not  been  able  to  hide  the 
agony  in  her  staring  eyes,  or  dull  the  lines  of  horror 
in  her  waxen,  contorted  face.  She  floated  out  to 
them,  swaying  and  bowing,  one  hand  clutched  and 
fixed  in  the  torn  bosom  of  her  dress,  a  pendant  of 
gold  and  pearl  swinging  from  each  ear. 

A  groan  of  wordless  horror  went  up  from  the 
wreckers.  For  a  moment  they  stared  at  the  thing 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    107 

rocking  and  sidling  in  their  midst,  with  grotesque 
motions  of  life  and  the  face  and  hands  of  a  terrific 
death ;  and  then,  as  one  man,  they  started  to  splash, 
beat  and  plunge  their  way  to  the  companion-steps. 
The  water  was  set  swirling  by  their  frantic  efforts, 
in  eddies  and  cross-currents  which  caught  the  dead 
woman  and  drew  her,  pitching  and  turning  heavily, 
in  the  wakes  of  the  leaders  and  elbow  to  elbow  with 
some  of  the  panic-stricken  fellows  in  the  second  line 
of  retreat.  They  knew  the  thing  was  not  a  ghost; 
they  knew  the  thing  was  not  alive,  and  could  not 
harm  them  with  its  pitiful,  stiff  fingers;  they  knew 
it  for  the  body  of  a  woman  who  had  been  drowned 
in  her  cabin  —  and  yet  the  horror  of  it  chilled  them, 
maddened  them,  melted  their  courage  and  dead- 
ened their  powers  of  reasoning.  Even  the  skipper 
felt  the  blind  terror  of  the  encounter  in  every  tin- 
gling nerve.  The  water  was  deep,  the  deck  sloped 
beneath  their  feet,  and  the  way  to  the  flooded  steps 
of  the  companionway  seemed  a  mile  long.  The 
fellows  who  suffered  the  touch  of  those  dead  elbows 
that  seemed  to  reach  out  to  them  beneath  the  churn- 
ing water  yelled  wildly,  lost  their  footing  and  power 
to  advance  at  one  and  the  same  moment,  and  soused 
under,  clutching  blindly  at  their  comrades.  This 


108  The  Harbor  Master 

brought  others  down  and  under  who  believed  that 
the  fingers  gripping  them  were  those  of  the  poor 
corpse.  Screams  and  yells  filled  the  cabin  and 
drifted  up  to  the  astounded  men  on  the  cliff.  Heads 
vanished;  legs  and  arms  beat  the  imprisoned  water 
to  spume;  fists  and  feet  struck  living  flesh;  and 
one  poor,  frantic  fool  clutched  the  unconscious 
cause  of  all  this  madness  in  his  arms.  Then  the 
skipper,  steadied  from  his  first  insanity  of  fear  by 
the  signs  of  disaster,  lowered  his  head  deliberately, 
plunged  forward  and  downward,  and  swam  under 
water  for  the  companion.  In  his  passage  he 
wrenched  floundering  bodies  aside  and  kicked  and 
struck  at  floundering  legs  and  arms.  Coming  to 
the  surface  and  sinking  his  feet  to  the  deck  at  the 
same  moment,  he  grasped  a  step  of  the  companion- 
way  and  hauled  himself  out  of  the  water,  as  if  the 
devil  were  nipping  at  his  heels.  Turning  on  an 
upper  step,  he  reached  down,  clutched  two  of  the 
struggling  fellows  by  the  collars  and  dragged  them 
up  from  the  battling  smother.  One  of  them  sprang 
on  up  the  companion  without  so  much  as  a  glance 
at  his  rescuer,  reached  the  deck  with  a  yell,  and 
started  forward  on  the  run  without  pausing  to  lay 
a  hand  on  the  life-line.  His  course  was  brief.  The 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    109 

list  of  the  deck  carried  him  to  the  starboard.  His 
foot  caught  in  a  splinter  of  shattered  bulwark  and 
he  pitched  overboard,  head  first  and  with  terrific 
force,  to  the  black  rocks  and  surging  seas.  That 
was  the  last  time  Dan  Cormick  was  seen  alive  — 
and  the  sight  of  him  springing  from  the  companion 
and  plunging  to  his  death  struck  horror  and  amaze- 
ment to  the  souls  of  the  men  on  the  cliff. 

Below,  the  skipper  was  doing  his  utmost  to  still 
the  tumult  and  drag  the  men  to  safety.  They  were 
the  men  of  his  harbor  —  a  part  of  his  equipment 
in  life  —  and  therefore  he  worked  like  a  hero  to 
save  them  from  themselves  and  one  another.  His 
young  brother  was  safe  on  the  cliff;  so  his  fine 
efforts  were  not  inspired  by  any  grander  emotion 
than  that  felt  by  the  shopkeeper  who  fights  fire 
in  the  protection  of  his  uninsured  stock-in-trade. 
There  were  men  below  whom  he  needed,  but  none 
whom  he  loved  even  with  the  ordinary  affection  of 
man  for  humanity.  The  skipper  yanked  the  men 
to  the  steps  as  fast  as  he  could  get  hold  of  them, 
dragged  them  up  to  the  level  of  the  deck,  and  left 
them  sprawled.  All  were  breathless;  some  were 
cut  and  bruised;  Nick  Leary's  left  cheek  had  been 
laid  open  from  eye  to  jaw  in  some  way.  The  shout- 


110  The  Harbor  Master 

ing  and  yelling  were  now  over,  and  several  husky 
fellows,  ashamed  of  the  recent  panic,  helped  the 
skipper  at  his  work.  When  the  task  of  rescue  was 
at  last  finished,  the  flooded  cabin  had  given  up  three 
corpses  besides  that  of  the  woman  —  four  corpses 
and  a  dozen  wounded  men. 

The  bodies  of  the  wreckers  were  hauled  up  to 
the  top  of  the  cliff,  amid  prayers,  curses  and  groans 
of  distress.  The  fellows  on  shore  demanded  to 
know  who  had  killed  them  —  and  why  ?  Knives 
were  drawn.  The  brother  of  one  of  the  dead  men 
swore  that  he  was  ready  and  eager  to  cut  the  heart 
out  of  the  murderer.  The  lads  on  the  wreck  caught 
something  of  all  this ;  but  it  did  not  cool  their  desire 
to  get  ashore.  Those  who  had  the  use  of  their 
limbs  swarmed  up  the  foremast  and  crossed  over 
to  the  cliff.  The  first  to  step  ashore  was  in  grave 
danger  for  a  half-minute ;  but  he  managed  to  throw 
some  light  on  the  thing  that  had  taken  place  in 
the  flooded  cabin.  Others  landed,  the  whole  story 
was  told  and  knives  were  returned  to  their  sheaths. 
The  skipper,  the  seriously  injured  and  the  dead 
woman  remained  on  the  deck.  The  skipper  was 
in  a  black  mood.  He  knew  his  people  well  enough 
to  see  that  this  unfortunate  affair  would  weaken 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    111 

his  power  among  them.  They  would  say  that  the 
saints  were  against  his  enterprises  and  ambitions; 
that  his  luck  was  gone;  that  he  was  a  bungler  and 
so  not  fit  to  give  orders  to  full-grown  men.  He 
understood  all  this  as  if  he  could  hear  their  grum- 
bled words  —  nay,  as  well  as  if  he  could  read  the 
very  hearts  of  them.  He  turned  to  Nick  Leary. 
Nick  had  already  bandaged  his  face  with  a  piece  of 
sail-cloth. 

"  Where  bes  the  medicine-chest?  Was  it  sent 
aloft?"  asked  the  skipper. 

"  Nay,  skipper,  'twas  left  below  —  in  the  cap- 
tain's berth,"  replied  Nick;  his  voice  shook  from 
pain  and  loss  of  blood. 

"  Ye  bes  cut  desperate  bad,"  said  the  skipper. 
"  I'll  go  fetch  the  medicine-chest  an'  fix  ye  up  wid 
plaster  an'  dacent  bandages.  Who  says  his  leg  bes 
broke?  Ye,  Bill  Lynch?  I'll  fix  yer  leg,  b'y,  when 
I  git  the  chest." 

He  looked  up  at  the  crowd  on  the  cliff  and  roared 
to  them  to  lower  away  some  brandy  for  the 
wounded  men. 

"  An'  step  lively,  damn  ye,  or  I'll  be  comin'  up 
to  ye  wid  a  bat  in  me  hand,"  he  concluded,  knowing 
that  it  was  not  the  time  to  display  any  sign  of  weak- 


112  The  Harbor  Master 

ness.  Then  he  went  down  the  companion,  entered 
the  water,  which  had  drained  out  with  the  ebbing 
tide  until  it  reached  no  higher  than  to  his  waist, 
and  waded  aft  to  the  lost  captain's  berth.  He  felt 
decidedly  uneasy,  shot  glances  to  right  and  left  at 
the  narrow  doors  of  the  state-rooms  and  experi- 
enced a  sensation  of  creeping  cold  at  the  roots  of 
his  hair;  but  he  forced  himself  onward.  He  soon 
regained  the  deck  with  the  big  medicine-chest  in 
his  arms.  He  was  received  by  a  growl  of  admira- 
tion from  the  little  group  of  wounded.  The  men 
on  the  cliff  looked  down  in  silence,  those  who  had 
taken  part  in  the  recent  panic  deeply  impressed  by 
the  skipper's  action.  The  brandy  had  already  been 
lowered  to  the  deck,  and  the  bottles  were  uncorked. 
The  skipper  placed  the  chest  on  the  upper  side  of 
the  hatch,  and  saw  to  the  fair  distribution  of  the 
liquor.  He  passed  it  around  with  a  generous  hand ; 
but  the  doses  administered  to  Nick  Leary  and  the 
man  with  the  broken  leg  were  the  most  liberal.  He 
attended  to  Nick's  cheek  first,  drawing  the  lips  of 
the  wound  together  with  strips  of  adhesive  plaster 
from  the  medicine-chest,  and  then  padding  and 
bandaging  it  securely  with  gauze  and  linen. 

"  That  bes  fine,   skipper.      Sure,   it   feels  better 


The  Gold  of  the  "  Royal  William  "    113 

now  nor  it  did  afore  it  was  cut,"  mumbled  Nick, 
gazing  at  the  other  with  dog-homage  in  his  eyes. 

By  this  time,  Bill  Lynch,  of  the  broken  leg,  was 
oblivious  to  the  world,  thanks  to  the  depth  and 
strength  of  his  potations.  The  skipper  cut  away 
a  section  of  the  leg  of  his  heavy  woollen  trousers, 
prodded  and  pried  at  the  injured  limb  with  his 
strong  fingers  until  the  fracture  was  found,  put  a 
couple  of  strong  splints  in  place,  and  bandaged  them 
so  that  they  were  not  likely  to  drop  off,  to  say  the 
least.  He  then  made  a  sling  of  a  blanket  and  sent 
his  drunken  patient  swaying  and  twirling  aloft  in 
it  to  the  top  of  the  cliff.  The  other  injured  persons 
went  ashore  in  the  same  way,  one  by  one,  like  bales 
of  sail-cloth.  At  last  only  the  skipper  and  the  dead 
woman  were  left  on  the  wreck.  The  skipper  stood 
with  a  scowl  on  his  dark  face  and  considered  her. 
He  drew  the  blanket  sling  toward  him,  and  stood 
toward  the  poor  clay. 

"  I'll  send  her  up  to  ye  for  dacent  burial,"  he 
shouted. 

This  suggestion  was  answered  by  a  yell  of  pro- 
test from  the  men  on  the  cliff. 

"  If  ye  be  afeard  o'  her,  ye  white-livered  swile, 
what  d'ye  want  me  to  do  wid  her?  " 


114  The  Harbor  Master 

"  T'row  her  overboard !  Heave  her  into  the 
sea!"  "Aye,  t'row  her  overboard.  She  bes  the 
devil  hisself !  T'ree  good  lads  bes  kilt  dead  by  her 
already.  T'row  her  overboard !  " 

"  There  bain't  a  man  amongst  ye  wid  the  heart 
o'  a  white-coat,"  returned  the  skipper.  "  Afeared 
o'  a  poor  drownded  wench,  be  ye?  " 

This  taunt  was  received  in  sullen  silence.  The 
skipper  stood  firm  on  the  listed  deck,  his  feet  set 
well  apart  and  his  shoulders  squared,  and  leered 
up  at  them.  Then,  stooping  forward  quickly,  he 
plucked  the  pendants  from  those  bloodless  ears,  and 
set  the  body  rolling  into  the  starboard  scuppers 
and  overboard  to  the  frothing  surf  and  slobbering 
rocks.  From  the  cliff  a  cry  as  of  mingled  relief 
and  dismay  rang  down  to  him.  He  moved  for- 
ward and  swarmed  the  foremast  to  the  cross-trees. 
There  he  paused  for  a  few  moments  to  glance  across. 
He  saw  that  Bill  Brennen,  Nick  Leary,  his  brother 
Cormick  and  several  of  the  men  whom  he  had 
rescued  from  the  flooded  cabin  had  clustered  around 
the  shore-end  of  the  hawser.  He  saw  that  they 
feared  treachery.  He  made  his  way  across,  cool, 
fearless,  with  a  dangerous  smile  on  his  lips. 


CHAPTER    VIII 

THE   SKIPPER    STRUGGLES   AGAINST    SUPERSTITION 

"  SHE  lays  snug  enough.  We'll  break  out  the 
freight,  to-morrow,"  said  the  skipper. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  aye,"  returned  Bill  Brennen,  with 
an  unsuccessful  attempt  to  put  some  heartiness  into 
his  tones;  but  the  others  did  not  say  a  word.  They 
made  litters  for  the  dead  and  wounded,  gathered 
up  the  spoils  of  the  cabins,  and  set  off  sullenly  for 
Chance  Along.  The  skipper  stood  to  one  side  and 
watched  them  from  under  lowering  brows.  At  the 
first  stroke  of  misfortune  they  were  sulking  and 
snarling  at  him  like  a  pack  of  wolf-dogs.  They 
evidently  expected  a  boat-load  of  gold  from  every 
wreck,  and  no  casualties.  He  despised  and  hated 
them.  He  hurried  after  them  and  called  a  halt. 
He  ordered  them  to  break  open  the  ship's  boxes. 
They  obeyed  him  in  sullen  wonder. 

"  If  ye  find  any  gold,"  he  said,  "  count  it  an' 
divide  it  amongst  ye.  An'  the  same  wid  the  rest 
o'  the  gear.  An'  here  bes  somethin'  more  for  ye !  " 

116 


116  The  Harbor  Master 

He  tossed  the  purse  and  the  earrings  to  them. 
"  Take  'em.  Keep  'em.  I  take  no  shares  wid  a 
crew  like  ye  —  not  this  time,  anyhow,  ye  cowardly, 
unthankful,  treacherous  swabs!  Aye,  count  the 
gold,  damn  ye!  an'  stow  it  away  in  yer  pockets. 
I  bes  makin'  rich  men  o'  ye  —  an'  at  a  turn  o'  bad 
luck  ye  all  be  ready  to  knife  me.  D'ye  think  I  kilt 
them  t'ree  dead  fools?  Nay,  they  kilt  themselves 
wid  fear  of  a  poor  drownded  woman !  T'ree  more 
would  ha'  bin  stunned  and  drownded  but  for  me. 
Holy  saints  above!  I  bes  minded  to  leave  ye  to 
fish  an'  starve  —  all  o'  ye  save  them  as  has  stood 
to  me  like  men  an'  them  o'  me  own  blood  —  an' 
go  to  another  harbor.  Ye  white-livered  pack  o' 
wolf-breed  huskies!  Ye  cowardly,  snarlin',  treach- 
erous divils.  Take  yer  money.  I  gives  it  to  ye. 
Go  home  an'  feed  on  the  good  grub  I  gives  to  ye 
an'  drink  the  liquor  ye'd  never  have  the  wits  nor 
the  courage  to  salve  but  for  me!  Go  home  wid 
ye,  out  o'  my  sight,  or  maybe  I'll  forgit  the  flabby- 
hearted  swabs  ye  be  an'  give  ye  a  taste  o'  me  bat !  " 
The  skipper's  fury  increased  with  the  utterance 
of  every  bellowed  word.  His  dark  face  burned 
crimson,  and  his  black  eyes  glowed  like  coals  in  ' 
the  open  draught  of  a  stove.  His  teeth  flashed 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    117 

between  his  snarling  lips  like  a  timber-wolf's  fangs. 
He  shook  his  fist  at  them,  picked  up  a  birch  billet, 
which  was  a  part  of  the  wrecking-gear,  and  swung 
it  threateningly.  About  eight  of  the  men  and  boys, 
including  young  Cormick  Nolan,  Nick  Leary  and 
Bill  Brennen,  stood  away  from  the  others,  out  of 
line  of  the  skipper's  frantic  gestures  and  bruising 
words.  Some  of  them  were  loyal,  some  simply 
more  afraid  of  Black  Dennis  Nolan  than  of  any- 
thing else  in  the  world.  But  fear,  after  all,  is  an 
important  element  in  a  certain  quality  of  devo- 
tion. 

The  main  party  were  somewhat  shaken.  A  few 
of  them  growled  back  at  the  skipper;  but  not  quite 
loud  enough  to  claim  his  attention  to  them  in  par- 
ticular. Some  eyed  him  apprehensively,  while  others 
broke  open  the  ship's  and  passengers'  boxes.  They 
found  minted  money  only  in  one  of  the  captain's 
dispatch-boxes  —  two  small  but  weighty  bags  of 
gold  containing  about  two  hundred  sovereigns  in 
all.  This  was  the  money  which  the  dead  captain 
had  been  armed  with  by  his  owners  against  harbor- 
dues,  etc.  The  funds  which  the  passengers  must 
have  possessed  had  doubtless  been  flung  overboard 
and  under  along  with  the  unfortunate  beings  who 


118  The  Harbor  Master 

had  clung  to  them.  The  sullen,  greedy  fellows 
began  to  count  and  divide  the  gold.  They  were 
slow,  suspicious,  grasping.  The  skipper,  having 
fallen  to  a  glowing  silence  at  last,  watched  them  for 
a  minute  or  two  with  a  bitter  sneer  on  his  face. 
Then  he  turned  and  set  out  briskly  for  Chance 
Along.  The  loyal  and  fearful  party  followed  him, 
most  of  them  with  evident  reluctance.  A  few 
turned  their  faces  continually  to  gaze  at  the  dis- 
tributing of  the  gold  and  gear.  The  skipper  noted 
this  with  a  sidelong,  covert  glance. 

"  Don't  ye  be  worryin',  men.  Ye'll  have  yer  fill 
afore  long,  so  help  me  Saint  Peter !  "  he  exclaimed. 
"  No  man  who  stands  by  me,  an'  knows  me  for 
master,  goes  empty !  " 

He  did  not  speak  another  word  on  the  way  or 
so  much  as  look  at  his  followers.  He  strode  along 
swiftly,  thinking  hard.  He  could  not  blink  the  fact 
that  the  needless  deaths  of  the  three  men  in  the 
cabin  of  the  Royal  William  had  weakened  his  posi- 
tion seriously.  He  could  not  blink  the  ugly  fact 
that  the  day's  activities  had  bred  a  mutiny  —  and 
that  the  mutiny  had  not  yet  been  faced  and  broken. 
It  was  still  breeding.  The  poison  was  still  working. 
In  a  fit  of  blind  anger  and  unreasoning  disgust  he 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    119 

had  fed  the  spirit  of  rebellion  with  gold.  He  had 
shattered  with  his  foot  what  he  had  built  with  his 
hands.  The  work  of  mastery  was  all  to  do  over 
again.  He  had  taught  them  that  his  rights  were 
four  shares  to  one  —  and  now  he  had  given  them 
all,  thereby  destroying  a  precedent  in  the  establish- 
ing of  which  he  had  risked  his  life  and  robbing 
himself  and  his  loyal  followers  at  the  same  time. 
The  situation  was  desperate;  but  he  could  not  find 
it  in  his  heart  to  regret  the  day's  work;  for  there 
was  the  girl  with  the  sea-eyes,  lying  safe  in  his 
own  house  this  very  minute!  A  thrill,  sweet  yet 
bitter,  went  through  his  blood  at  the  thought.  No 
other  woman  had  ever  caused  him  a  choking  pang 
like  this.  The  remembrance  of  those  clear  eyes 
shook  him  to  the  very  soul  and  quenched  his  burn- 
ing anger  with  a  wave  of  strangely  mingled  adora- 
tion and  desire.  He  was  little  more  than  a  fine 
animal,  after  all.  The  man  in  him  lay  passive  and 
undeveloped  under  the  tides  of  passion,  craving, 
brute-pride  and  crude  ambitions.  But  the  manhood 
was  there,  as  his  flawless  courage  and  unconsidered 
kindness  to  women  and  children  indicated.  But 
he  was  self-centred,  violent,  brutally  masterful. 
Women  and  children  had  always  seemed  to  him 


120  The  Harbor  Master 

(until  now)  helpless,  harmless  things,  that  had  a 
right  to  the  protection  of  men  even  as  they  had  a 
right  to  remain  ashore  from  the  danger  of  wind 
and  sea.  The  stag  caribou  and  the  dog-wolf  have 
the  same  attitude  toward  the  females  of  their  races. 
It  is  a  characteristic  which  is  natural  to  animals  and 
boasted  of  by  civilized  men.  Dogs  and  gentlemen 
do  not  bite  and  beat  their  females;  and  if  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  resembled  a  stag,  a  he- wolf,  and  a 
dog  in  many  points,  in  this  particular  he  also  re- 
sembled a  gentleman.  Like  some  hammering  old 
feudal  baron  of  the  Norman  time  and  the  finer  type, 
his  battles  were  all  with  men.  Those  who  did  not 
ride  behind  him  he  rode  against.  He  feared  the 
saints  and  a  priest,  even  as  did  the  barons  of  old; 
but  all  others  must  acknowledge  his  lordship  or 
know  themselves  for  his  enemies.  To  Black  Dennis 
Nolan  the  law  of  the  land  was  a  vague  thing  not 
greatly  respected.  To  Walter,  Lord  of  Waltham, 
William  the  Red  was  a  vague  personage,  not  greatly 
respected.  Walter,  Lord  of  Waltham,  son  of  Wal- 
ter and  grandson  of  Fitz  Oof  of  Normandy;  Skip- 
per of  Chance  Along,  son  of  Skipper  Pat  and 
grandson  of  Skipper  Tim  —  the  two  barons  dif- 
fered only  in  period  and  location.  In  short,  Black 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    121 

Dennis  Nolan  possessed  many  of  the  qualities  of 
strong  animals,  of  a  feudal  baron,  and  one  at  least 
of  a  modern  gentleman. 

The  skipper  was  overtaken  and  joined  by  his 
young  brother  at  the  edge  of  the  barrens  above 
Chance  Along.  They  scrambled  swiftly  down  the 
path  to  the  clustered  cabins.  At  their  own  door 
Cormick  plucked  the  skipper's  sleeve. 

"  They  was  talkin'  o'  witches,"  he  whispered. 
"  Dick  Lynch  an'  some  more  o'  the  lads.  They 
says  as  how  the  comather  was  put  on  to  ye  this  very 
mornin',  Denny." 

The  skipper  paused  with  his  hand  on  the  latch 
and  eyed  the  other  sharply. 

"  Witches,  ye  say  ?  An'  Dick  Lynch  was  talkin', 
was  he?  Who  did  they  figger  as  put  the  spell 
on  to  me  ?  " 

"  The  lass  ye  saved  from  the  fore-top.  Sure, 
that's  what  they  all  bes  sayin',  Denny.  Mermaid, 
they  calls  her  —  an'  some  a  fairy.  A  witch,  any- 
how. They  says  as  how  yer  luck  bes  turned  now 
—  aye,  the  luck  o'  the  entire  harbor.  'Twas  her- 
self—  the  spell  o'  her  —  kilt  the  t'ree  lads  in  the 
cabin,  they  be  sayin'.  Their  talk  was  desperate 
black,  Denny." 


122  The  Harbor  Master 

"  'Twas  the  poor  dead,  drownded  woman,  an' 
their  own  cowardly  souls,  kilt  'em !  " 

"  Aye,  Denny,  so  it  was,  nary  a  doubt ;  but  they 
shot  ye  some  desperate  black  looks,  Denny." 

"  Well,  Cormy,  don't  ye  be  worryin'.  Fifty 
t'ousand  squid  like  Dick  Lynch  couldn't  frighten 
me.  The  comather,  ye  say?  Saints  o'  God!  but 
I'll  be  puttin'  it  on  themselves  wid  a  club!  Be- 
witched ?  What  the  divil  do  they  know  o'  witches  ? 
Fishes  bes  all  they  understands!  Black  looks 
they  give  me,  did  they?  I'll  be  batin'  'em  so 
black  they'll  all  look  like  rotted  herrings,  by  the 
Holy  Peter  hisself !  Aye,  Cormy,  don't  ye  worry, 
now." 

At  that  he  opened  the  door  quietly  and  stepped 
inside  with  a  strange  air  of  reverence  and  eager- 
ness. The  boy  followed  softly  and  closed  the  door 
behind  him.  The  fire  roared  and  crackled  in  the 
round  stove,  but  the  room  was  empty  of  human  life. 
Wet  garments  of  fine  linen  hung  on  a  line  behind 
the  stove.  The  inner  door  opened  and  old  Mother 
Nolan  hobbled  into  the  kitchen  with  a  wrinkled 
finger  to  her  lips. 

"Whist  wid  ye!"  she  cautioned.  "She  be 
sleepin'  like  a  babe,  the  poor  darlint,  in  Father 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    123 

McQueen's  own  bed,  wid  everything  snug  an'  warm 
as  ye'd  find  in  any  marchant's  grand  house  in  St. 
John's." 

She  took  her  accustomed  seat  beside  the  stove 
and  lit  her  pipe. 

"  Saints  alive !  but  can't  ye  set  down ! "  she  ex- 
claimed. "  I  wants  to  talk  wid  ye,  b'ys.  Tell  me 
this  —  where  bes  t'e  rest  o'  the  poor  folk  from  the 
wrack?  " 

"  She  bes  the  only  livin'  soul  we  found,  Granny," 
replied  the  skipper.  "  She  was  lashed  in  the  fore- 
mast —  an'  t'other  spars  was  all  over  the  side.  We 
found  a  poor  dead  body  in  one  o'  the  cabins  — 
drownded  to  death  —  an'  not  so  much  as  another 
corpse.  Aye,  Granny,  'twas  a  desperate  cruel  wrack 
altogether." 

The  old  woman  shot  a  keen  glance  at  him;  but 
he  returned  it  without  a  blink. 

"  Didn't  ye  find  no  more  gold  an'  diamonds, 
then  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  We  found  some  gold.  I  give  it  all  to  the 
men." 

"  An'  what  was  the  cargo  ?  " 

"  Sure,  Granny,  we  didn't  break  into  her  cargo 
yet.  There  was  a  rumpus  —  aye,  ye  may  well  call 


124  The  Harbor  Master 

it  a  rumpus!  Did  ye  say  as  she  bes  sleepin', 
Granny?  " 

The  old  woman  nodded  her  head,  her  black  eyes 
fixed  on  the  red  draught  of  the  stove  with  a  far- 
away, fateful,  veiled  glint  in  them  which  her  grand- 
sons knew  well.  She  had  ceased  to  puff  at  her 
pipe  for  the  moment,  and  in  the  failing  light  from 
the  window  they  could  see  a  thin  reek  of  smoke 
trailing  straight  up  from  the  bowl. 

"  Aye,  sleepin',"  she  mumbled,  at  last.  "  Saints 
presarve  us,  Denny!  There  bes  fairy  blood  in  her 
—  aye,  fairy  blood.  Sure,  can't  ye  see  it  in  her 
eyes?  I's  afeard  there  bain't  no  luok  in  it,  Denny. 
Worse  nor  wracked  diamonds,  worse  nor  wracked 
gold  they  be  —  these  humans  wid  fairy  blood  in 
'em!  And  don't  I  know?  Sure,  wasn't  me  own 
grandmother  own  cousin  to  the  darter  o'  a  fairy- 
woman?  Sure  she  was,  back  in  old  Tyoon.  An' 
there  was  no  luck  in  the  house  wid  her;  an'  she 
was  a  beauty,  too,  like  the  darlint  body  yon- 
der." 

The  skipper  smiled  and  lit  his  pipe.  The  winter 
twilight  had  deepened  to  gloom.  The  front  of  the 
stove  glowed  like  a  long,  half-closed  red  eye,  and 
young  Cormick  peered  fearfully  at  the  black  cor- 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    125 

ners  of  the  room.  The  skipper  left  his  chair, 
fetched  a  candle  from  the  dresser  and  lit  it  at  the 
door  of  the  stove. 

"  We  bes  a  long  way  off  from  old  Tyoon, 
Granny,"  he  said ;  "  an'  maybe  there  bain't  no 
fairies  now,  even  in  Tyoon.  I  never  seen  no  fairy 
in  Chance  Along,  anyhow;  nor  witch,  mermaid, 
pixie,  bogey,  ghost,  sprite  —  no,  nor  even  a  corpus- 
light.  Herself  in  yonder  bes  no  fairy-child, 
Granny,  but  a  fine  young  lady,  more  beautiful  nor 
an  angel  in  heaven  —  maybe  a  marchant's  darter 
an'  maybe  a  king's  darter,  but  nary  the  child  o' 
any  vanishin'  sprite.  Sure,  didn't  I  hold  her  in 
me  two  arms  all  the  way  from  the  foretop  o'  the 
wrack  to  the  cliff?  —  an'  didn't  she  weigh  agin'  me 
arms  till  they  was  nigh  broke  wid  it  ?  " 

"  Denny,  ye  poor  fool,"  returned  Mother  Nolan, 
"  ye  bes  simple  as  a  squid  t'rowed  up  on  the  land- 
wash.  What  do  ye  know  o'  fairies  an'  the  like? 
Wasn't  I  born  on  a  Easter  Sunday,  wid  the  power 
to  see  the  good  people,  an'  the  little  people,  an'  all 
the  tricksy  tribes?  The  body  o'  a  fairy-child  bes 
human,  lad.  'Tis  but  the  heart  o'  her  bes  unhuman 
—  an'  the  beauty  o'  her  —  an'  there  bain't  no  soul 
in  her.  Did  ye  hear  the  voice  o'  her,  Denny?  Holy 


126  The  Harbor  Master 

saints!  But  was  there  ever  a  human  woman  wid 
a  voice  the  like  o'  that  ?  " 

"  Aye,  Granny,  but  did  she  eat  ?  Did  she  drink  ? 
Did  she  shed  tears  ?  "  asked  the  skipper. 

The  old  woman  nodded  her  head. 

"  Fairies  don't  shed  tears,"  said  Dennis,  grin- 
ning. "  Sure,  ye've  told  me  that  yerself  many  a 
time." 

"  But  half-fairies,  like  herself,  sheds  'em  as  well 
as  any  human,  ye  mad  fool,"  returned  Mother 
Nolan. 

At  that  moment  the  outer  door  opened,  and  Nick 
Leary  entered  the  kitchen,  closing  the  door  behind 
him,  and  shooting  the  bolt  into  its  place.  His  face 
was  so  generously  bandaged  that  only  his  eyes  and 
nose  were  visible.  He  glanced  fearfully  around  the 
room. 

"  Where  bes  the  mermaid  ?  Has  she  flew 
away?"  he  whispered. 

The  skipper  sprang  to  his  feet  with  an  oath. 

"  Mermaid?  "  he  cried.  "  Ye  dodderin'  fool  ye! 
She  bes  no  more  a  mermaid  nor  any  fat  wench 
in  Chance  Along!  Has  she  flew,  ye  say!  How 
to  hell  kin  a  mermaid  fly?  Wid  her  tail?  Ye  bes 
a  true  man,  Nick,  or  I'd  bat  ye  over  the  nob  for 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    127 

yer  trouble.  She  bes  a  poor  young  woman  saved 
from  a  wrack,  as  well  ye  know.  What  d'ye  want 
wid  me?  " 

Leary  trembled,  big  as  he  was,  and  pulled  off 
his  fur  cap  with  both  hands. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  aye !  but  where  bes  she  now  ?  " 
he  whispered. 

"  She  bes  sleepin'  like  any  poor  babe  in  his  rev- 
erence's own  bed,"  replied  the  skipper. 

"  Saints  presarve  us !  "  exclaimed  the  other.  "  In 
the  blessed  father's  bed!  I  bain't  sayin'  naught, 
skipper,  sir,  but  —  but  sure  'twill  be  desperate  bad 
luck  for  his  reverence !  " 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  lost  his  temper  then.  He 
gripped  Nick  by  the  shoulder,  swore  at  him,  shook 
him  about,  and  threatened  to  knock  his  head  off. 
Had  Nick  been  one  of  the  mutineers,  the  chances 
are  ten  to  one  that  he  would  have  been  floored  and 
beaten  half  to  death.  But  even  in  the  full  fury 
of  his  rage  the  skipper  did  not  lose  sight  of  the 
fact  that  this  fellow  was  a  loyal  slave.  He  did 
not  love  Nick,  but  he  loved  his  dog-like  devotion. 
So  he  kept  his  right  hand  down  at  his  side,  and 
it  cost  him  a  mighty  effort  of  restraint,  and  con- 
tented himself  with  cursing  and  shaking.  The  boy 


128  The  Harbor  Master 

stared  at  the  two  wide-eyed,  and  the  old  woman 
smoked  and  nodded  without  so  much  as  a  glance  at 
them.  At  last  the  skipper  unhooked  his  fingers 
from  Nick's  shoulder,  laughed  harshly  and  re- 
turned to  his  seat. 

"Luck?"  he  said,  derisively.  "The  luck  o' 
Father  McQueen  bes  the  protection  o'  the  holy 
saints  above.  An'  my  luck  bes  the  strength  o' 
my  heart  an'  my  wits,  Nick  Leary.  I  saves  a 
woman  from  a  wrack  an'  brings  her  into  my  own 
house  —  an'  ye  names  her  for  a  mermaid  an'  a 
she-divil!  Maybe  ye  holds  wid  Dick  Lynch  'twas 
herself  kilt  the  t'ree  lads  in  the  cabin  —  an'  her 
in  this  house  all  the  time,  innocent  as  a  babe." 

Leary  made  the  sign  of  the  cross  quickly  and 
furtively. 

"  Nay,  skipper;  but  the  divil  was  in  that  wrack," 
he  said.  "  The  lads  got  to  fightin'  over  the  gold, 
skipper,  an'  Dick  Lynch  slipped  his  knife  into  Pat 
Brennen.  Sure,  the  divil  come  ashore  from  that 
wrack.  Never  afore  did  them  two  pull  their  knives 
on  each  other;  an'  now  Pat  Brennen  lays  bleedin' 
his  life  out.  The  divil  bes  got  into  the  lads  o' 
Chance  Along,  nary  a  doubt,  an'  the  black  luck 
has  come  to  the  harbor." 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    129 

"  The  divil  an'  the  black  luck  bes  in  their  own 
stinkin'  hearts !  "  exclaimed  Nolan,  violently. 

"  Aye,  skipper ;  but  they  says  it  bes  her  ye 
brought  ashore  put  the  curse  on  to  us  —  an'  now 
they  bes  comin'  this  way,  skipper,  to  tell  ye  to  run 
her  out  o'  yer  house." 

"  What  d'ye  say  ?  "  cried  the  skipper,  springing 
from  his  chair.  "  Run  her  out,  ye  say?  " 

He  trembled  with  fury,  burned  the  air  with  oaths, 
and  called  down  all  the  curses  known  to  tradition 
upon  the  heads  of  the  men  of  Chance  Along.  He 
snatched  up  a  stout  billet  of  birch,  green  and  heavy, 
wrenched  open  the  door,  and  sprang  into  the  outer 
gloom. 

Nick  Leary's  story  was  true.  The  mutineers  had 
consumed  the  brandy,  come  to  hot  words  over 
the  sharing  of  the  gold,  dropped  their  dead  and 
wounded,  and  commenced  to  curse,  kick  and  hit  at 
one  another  with  clubs.  Then  Dick  Lynch  had 
put  his  knife  into  a  young  man  named  Pat  Bren- 
nen,  a  nephew  of  the  loyal  Bill.  Panic  had  brought 
the  fight  to  a  drunken,  slobbering  finish. 

'There  bes  four  strong  lads  kilt  in  one  day!" 
some  one  had  cried.  "  The  black  curse  bes  on  us ! 
The  divil  bes  in  it!" 


130  The  Harbor  Master 

Full  of  liquor,  fear  and  general  madness,  they 
had  come  to  the  opinion  that  the  strange  young 
female  whom  the  skipper  had  saved  from  the  fore- 
top  and  carried  to  his  house  was  such  an  imp  of 
darkness  as  had  never  before  blighted  the  life  and 
luck  of  Chance  Along.  She  had  bewitched  the 
skipper.  Her  evil  eyes  had  cast  a  curse  on  the 
wreck  and  that  curse  had  been  the  death  of  their 
three  comrades.  She  had  put  a  curse  on  the  gold, 
so  that  they  had  all  gone  mad  the  moment  they 
felt  the  touch  of  it  in  their  hands.  The  skipper, 
under  her  spell,  had  betrayed  them  —  had  given 
them  gold  so  that  they  should  fight  over  it  and 
destroy  one  another.  It  was  all  very  simple  — 
too  simple  to  require  reasoning!  In  truth,  the 
curse  was  upon  them  —  the  curse  of  dead  men's 
liquor,  dead  men's  gold  —  the  curse  of  greed, 
blood-lust  and  fear!  So  they  had  picked  up  their 
dead,  their  wounded  and  their  loot  and  continued 
their  journey  at  top  speed,  intent  on  casting  out 
the  witch,  and  bringing  the  skipper  to  a  knowledge 
of  his  desperate  state  even  if  the  operation  should 
cost  him  his  life.  What  cared  they  for  his  life 
now  that  he  had  lost  his  luck? 

They  reached  Chance  Along,  scattered  for  a  few 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    131 

minutes  to  dispose  of  the  dead  and  wounded,  gath- 
ered again  and  crowded  toward  the  skipper's  house. 
They  were  quiet  now,  for  the  superstitious  fear  had 
not  entirely  driven  from  their  hearts  the  human  fear 
of  the  skipper's  big  hands  and  terrible  eyes.  They 
stumbled  and  reeled  against  one  another,  their 
heads  and  feet  muddled  by  brandy  and  excitement. 
Some  were  armed  with  sticks,  a  few  had  drawn 
their  knives,  others  had  forgotten  to  arm  them- 
selves with  anything.  They  trod  upon  each  other's 
feet  in  the  dark,  narrow,  uneven  ways  between  the 
cabins.  Bill  Brennen  joined  them  in  the  dark.  He 
carried  a  broken  oar  of  seasoned  ash  in  his  hands. 
He  had  sent  Nick  Leary  to  warn  the  skipper  of  the 
approach  of  the  mutineers;  and  his  faith  in  the 
skipper's  prowess  was  such  that  he  felt  but  little 
anxiety.  He  was  sober  and  he  knew  that  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  was  sober.  He  kept  to  the  rear  of 
the  mob,  just  far  enough  behind  it  to  allow  for  a 
full  swing  of  his  broken  oar,  and  waited  for  his 
master  to  make  the  first  move  against  this  disor- 
derly demonstration  of  superstition,  bottle-valor  and 
ingratitude.  He  removed  his  mittens,  stowed  them 
in  his  belt  and  spat  upon  the  palms  of  his  hands 
while  he  waited.  Being  sober,  he  reasoned.  Bad 


132  The  Harbor  Master 

luck  had  struck  the  harbor  this  day,  beyond  a  doubt, 
and  brought  death  and  mutiny.  But  death  had  not 
come  to  the  skipper.  Not  so  much  as  a  scratch  had 
come  to  the  skipper.  If  a  witch  was  in  the  har- 
bor he  trusted  to  Black  Dennis  Nolan  to  deal  with 
her  without  bringing  harm  upon  himself  or  his 
friends.  If  the  devil  himself  visited  Chance  Along 
he  would  look  to  the  skipper  to  outwit,  outcurse 
and  out-devil  him.  This  is  how  he  felt  about  the 
man  he  had  attached  himself  to.  He  gripped  his 
broken  oar  with  his  moistened  palm  and  fingers 
and  waited  hopefully.  He  had  not  long  to  wait. 

Suddenly  the  door  of  the  skipper's  house  flew 
open  and  out  of  the  glow  of  candle-light  leaped  a 
figure  that  might  easily  (under  the  circumstances 
and  condition  of  the  mob)  have  been  the  devil 
himself  —  himself,  the  father  of  all  the  little  devils 
in  hell.  The  wrathful  bellow  of  him  was  like  the 
roar  of  a  wounded  walrus.  He  touched  ground 
in  the  centre  of  the  front  rank  of  the  mob,  and 
as  his  feet  touched  the  ground  his  billet  of  green 
birch  cracked  down  upon  a  skull.  And  still  he 
continued  to  roar;  and  still  the  club  cracked  and 
cracked;  and  then  Bill  Brennen  got  heartily  to 
work  on  the  rear  rank  with  his  broken  oar. 


Skipper  Struggles  Against  Superstition    133 

The  mob  of  mutineers  had  arrived  intoxicated, 
and  with  no  very  clear  idea  of  what  they  intended 
to  do  to  the  witch  and  the  skipper.  They  had  in- 
tended to  make  the  first  move,  however;  of  that 
they  were  certain.  They  had  intended  to  open  the 
door  themselves  —  and  now  some  divil  had  opened 
it  before  they  were  ready!  They  were  so  unsteady 
on  their  feet  that  no  man  of  them  stood  up  for  a 
second  blow.  A  few  got  to  work  on  their  own 
account;  but  it  was  so  dark  that  they  did  little 
damage  even  to  their  friends.  After  five  or  six 
had  fallen  the  next  in  order  for  treatment  faced 
about  to  retire.  In  their  indignation  and  bewil- 
derment they  discovered  that  another  club  was  at 
work  in  their  rear.  This  unnerved  them  so  that 
they  —  the  survivors  of  the  demonstration  —  raised 
their  voices  to  heaven  in  expostulation  and  stam- 
peded. They  went  over  Bill  Brennen  like  a  wave 
over  a  bar,  knocking  the  breath  out  of  him,  and 
sending  the  oar  flying  from  his  grasp;  but  the 
skipper  kept  right  after  them,  still  roaring,  still 
plying  the  billet  of  green  birch.  They  scattered, 
each  dashing  for  his  own  cabin,  bursting  open  the 
door,  sprawling  inside,  and  shutting  the  door  with 
his  feet. 


134  The  Harbor  Master 

After  the  last  door  had  been  slammed  in  his 
face,  the  skipper  went  home.  He  found  Bill  Bren- 
nen  seated  by  the  stove,  trying  a  pipeful  of  Mother 
Nolan's  tobacco.  He  had  regained  his  broken  oar 
and  held  it  tenderly  across  his  knees. 

"  We  sure  put  the  witchery  into  them  squid, 
skipper,  sir,"  he  said.  "  We  sure  larned  'em  the 
black  magic,  by  Peter !  " 


CHAPTER    IX 

SOME   EARLY   VISITS 

THE  skipper  kept  his  two  unswerving  henchmen 
to  supper  and  brewed  a  mighty  bowl  in  their  honor. 
He  even  condescended  to  thank  Nick  for  his  warn- 
ing, roundabout  and  prolonged  though  it  had  been, 
and  to  throw  a  word  of  praise  to  Bill  Brennen. 
He  felt  that  the  unqualified  success  of  his  unex- 
pected attack  upon  the  mob  had  rewon  for  him 
much  of  his  mastery  of  the  harbor.  The  others 
agreed  with  him.  Bill  Brennen,  with  a  mug  full 
of  punch  in  his  hand,  and  his  eyes  on  the  broken 
oar  which  had  stood  in  a  corner,  humbly  advised 
him  to  bestir  himself  at  an  early  hour  in  the  morn- 
ing, and  put  the  finishing  touches  on  the  lesson. 
He  advised  a  house-to-house  visitation  before  the 
heroes  had  recovered  from  the  brandy  and  the  birch 
billet  —  not  to  mention  the  oar. 

"  Bat  'em  agin  whilst  their  heads  bes  still  sore," 
said  Bill  —  which  is  only  another  and  more  orig- 

185 


136  The  Harbor  Master 

inal  way  of  saying,  "  Strike  while  the  iron  is 
hot." 

"  When  ye  give  'em  all  the  money,  skipper,  they 
sure  t'ought  ye  was  bewitched,"  said  Nick  Leary. 
"  They  t'ought  ye  was  under  a  spell  —  an'  next 
they  was  t'inkin'  as  how  the  gold  sure  had  a  curse 
on  to  it  or  ye  wouldn't  give  it  to  'em." 

The  skipper  nodded.  "  I  was  too  easy  wid  'em!  " 
he  said.  "  Sure,  b'ys,  I'll  be  mendin'  it." 

Bill  and  Nick  departed  at  last;  Cormick  ascend- 
ing the  ladder  to  his  bed  in  the  loft;  Mother  Nolan 
brewed  a  dose  of  herbs  of  great  virtue  —  she  was 
wise  in  such  things  —  and  still  the  skipper  sat  by 
the  stove  and  smoked  his  pipe.  Never  before  had 
his  life  known  another  such  day  as  this.  Now  he 
could  have  sworn  that  a  whole  month  had  passed 
since  he  had  been  awakened  by  news  of  the  wreck 
under  the  cliff,  and  again  it  seemed  as  swift  and 
dazzling  as  the  flash  of  the  powder  in  the  pan  of 
his  old  sealing-gun  when  the  spark  flies  from  the 
flint.  It  had  certainly  been  an  astonishing  day! 
He  had  saved  a  life.  He  had  seen  those  wonderful, 
pale  lids  blink  open  and  the  soul  sweep  back  into 
those  wonderful  eyes.  He  had  been  elbow  to  elbow 
with  violent  death.  He  had  struggled  submerged 


Some  Early  Visits  137 

in  water  tinged  with  blood.  He  had  known  exul- 
tation, anger  and  something  which  a  less  coura- 
geous man  would  have  accepted  for  defeat.  He 
had  suffered  a  mutiny  —  and  later,  in  a  few  violent, 
reckless  minutes  of  action  he  had  broken  it  —  or 
cowed  it  at  least.  Now  he  felt  himself  master  of 
the  harbor  again,  but  not  the  master  of  his  own 
destiny.  He  did  not  sum  up  his  case  in  these  terms ; 
but  this  is  what  it  came  to.  Destiny  was  a  con- 
viction with  him,  and  not  a  word  at  all  —  a  name- 
less conviction.  He  did  not  consider  the  future 
anew;  but  he  felt,  without  analyzing  it,  a  breath- 
less, new  curiosity  of  what  the  morrow  might  hold 
for  him.  This  sensation  was  in  connection  with  the 
girl.  Apart  from  her,  his  old  plans  and  ambitions 
stood.  He  felt  no  uncertainty  and  no  curiosity  con- 
cerning the  morrow's  dealings  with  the  men.  He 
considered  it  a  commonplace  subject.  He  would 
act  upon  Bill  Brennen's  advice  and  visit  the  muti- 
neers at  an  early  hour;  and  as  to  the  wreck?  — 
well,  if  conditions  proved  favorable  he  would  break 
out  the  cargo  and  see  what  could  be  made  of  it. 

Mother  Nolan  entered  with  an  empty  cup  in  her 
hand. 

"  She   took   her   draught   like   a  babe,   an'   bes 


138  The  Harbor  Master 

sleepin'  agin  peaceful  as  an  angel,"  she  whispered. 
"  Mind  ye  makes  no  noise,  Denny.  No  more  o' 
yer  fightin'  an'  cursin'  this  night !  " 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  put  in  a  night  of  disturbed 
dreaming  and  crawled  from  his  bed  before  the  first 
streak  of  dawn.  He  pulled  on  his  heavy  garments 
and  seal-hide  "  skinnywoppers,"  built  up  the  fire 
in  the  stove,  brewed  and  gulped  a  mug  of  tea,  and 
then  unbolted  the  door  noiselessly  and  went  out. 
The  dawn  was  lifting  by  now,  clear,  glass-gray  and 
narrow  at  the  rim  of  the  sea  to  the  eastward  and 
southward.  The  air  was  still.  The  lapping  of  the 
tide  along  the  icy  land-wash  and  the  dull  whispering 
of  it  among  the  seaward  rocks  were  the  only  sounds. 
The  skipper  stood  motionless  beside  his  own  door 
for  a  few  minutes.  Small  windows  blinked  alight 
here  and  there ;  faint,  muffled  sounds  of  awakening 
life  came  to  him  from  the  cabins;  pale  streamers 
of  smoke  arose  into  the  breathless  air  from  the  little 
chimneys. 

"  Now  I'll  pay  me  calls  on  'em,  like  good  Father 
McQueen  himself,"  murmured  the  skipper. 

He  moved  across  the  frosty  rock  to  the  nearest 
door.  It  was  opened  to  him  by  a  wide-eyed  woman 
with  a  ragged  shawl  thrown  over  her  head. 


Some  Early  Visits  139 

"  Mornin'  to  ye,  Kate.  How  bes  yer  man  Tim 
this  mornin'  ?  "  inquired  the  skipper. 

He  stepped  inside  without  waiting  for  an  answer 
or  an  invitation.  He  found  Tim  in  the  bed  beside 
the  stove,  snoring  heavily.  He  grabbed  his  shoul- 
der and  shook  it  roughly  until  the  fellow  closed 
his  mouth  and  opened  his  eyes. 

"  Tim  Leary,  ye  squid,  shut  off  yer  fog-horn  an' 
hark  to  me ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  By  sun-up  ye  goes 
back  to  the  woods  and  commences  cuttin'  out  poles 
for  Father  McQueen's  church.  Ye'll  take  yer 
brother  Corny  an'  Peter  Walen  along  wid  ye  an' 
ye'll  chop  poles  all  day.  Mark  that,  Tim.  I  let 
ye  take  a  fling  yesterday,  jist  to  see  what  kind  o* 
dogs  ye  be;  but  if  ever  I  catches  ye  takin'  another 
widout  the  word  from  me  I'll  be  killin'  ye !  " 

The  man  groaned. 

"  Holy  saints,  skipper,  ye'd  not  be  sendin'  me 
to  choppin'  poles  wid  a  head  on  me  like  a  lobster- 
pot  ? "  he  whispered.  "  Sure,  skipper,  me  poor 
head  feels  that  desperate  bad,  what  wid  the  liquor 
an'  the  clout  ye  give  me,  I  couldn't  heave  it  up 
from  the  pillow  if  Saint  Peter  himself  give  the 
word." 

"  I  bain't  troublin'  about  Saint  Peter,"  returned 


140  The  Harbor  Master 

the  skipper.  "  If  ever  he  wants  ye  to  chop  poles 
he'll  see  as  how  ye  does  it,  I  bes  t'inkin'!  It  bes 
me  a-tellin'  ye  now;  an'  if  ye  can't  carry  yer  head 
to  the  woods  wid  ye  to-day,  ye  treacherous  dog, 
I'll  knock  it  off  for  ye  to-night  so  ye'll  be  able  to 
carry  it  'round  in  yer  two  hands.  Mark  that!  " 

So  the  skipper  paid  his  round  of  morning  calls. 
At  some  cabins  he  paused  only  long  enough  to 
shout  a  word  through  the  door,  at  others  he  re- 
mained for  several  minutes,  re-inspiring  treacher- 
ous but  simple  hearts  with  the  fear  of  Dennis 
Nolan,  master  of  Chance  Along.  At  one  bed  he 
stayed  for  fifteen  minutes,  examining  and  reband- 
aging  the  wound  given  by  the  knife  of  Dick 
Lynch.  As  for  that  drunken,  sullen,  treacherous 
savage,  Dick  Lynch  himself,  he  dragged  him  from 
his  blankets,  knocked  him  about  the  floor,  and  then 
flung  him  back  on  to  his  bed.  Then,  turning  to  the 
dazed  man's  horrified  wife,  he  said,  "  See  that  he 
don't  turn  on  me  agin,  Biddy,  or  by  the  crowns 
o'  the  Holy  Saints  I'll  be  the  everlastin'  death  o' 
him!" 

At  some  of  the  cabins  his  orders  were  for  the 
woods,  and  at  some  they  were  for  work  on  the 
stranded  ship.  He  did  not  disturb  Bill  Brennen 


Some  Early  Visits  141 

or  Nick  Leary.  He  knew  that  they  would  be 
around  at  his  house  for  orders  by  sun-up.  The 
last  cabin  he  visited  was  that  of  Pat  Kavanagh. 
Kavanagh  was  a  man  of  parts,  and  had  been  a 
close  friend  of  the  old  skipper.  He  was  a  man  of 
the  world,  having  sailed  deep-sea  voyages  in  his 
youth.  He  was  a  grand  fiddler,  a  grand  singer, 
and  had  made  more  "  Come-all-ye's "  than  you 
could  count  on  your  fingers  and  toes.  He  had  a 
wooden  leg;  and  his  daughter  was  the  finest  girl 
in  Chance  Along.  His  best  known  Come-all-ye, 
which  is  sung  to  this  day  from  Caplin  Arm  to  Bay 
Bulls,  starts  like  this :  — 

"  Come,  all  ye  hardy  fisher-men 

An'  hearken  to  me  lay 
O'  how  the  good  brig  '  Peggy  Bell' 
Went  down  in  Trin'ty  Bay. 

"  The  skipper  he  was  from  St.  John's, 

The  mate  from  Harbor  Grace; 
The  bosun  was  a  noble  lad 

Wid  whiskers  'round  his  face." 

Pat  Kavanagh  was  the  author  of  the  ballad  that 
commences  this  way,  and  of  many  more. 

He  was  proud  of  his  daughter  and  his  wooden 


142  The  Harbor  Master 

leg;  he  was  happy  with  his  fiddle  and  his  verses; 
he  did  not  hold  with  physical  or  emotional  violence, 
and  asked  the  world  for  nothing  more  than  to  be 
left  alone  beside  his  stove  with  a  knowledge  that 
there  was  something  in  the  pot  and  a  few  cakes  of 
hard  bread  in  the  bin.  He  could  not  understand 
the  new  skipper,  his  terrible  activity,  his  hard-fisted 
ways  and  his  ambitions,  and  he  took  no  stock  in 
wrecks  except  as  subjects  for  songs;  but  he  had 
been  delighted  with  a  gift  of  four  fine  blankets 
and  two  quarts  of  rum  which  the  skipper  had  made 
him  recently. 

Mary  Kavanagh  opened  the  door  to  the  skipper, 
and  let  a  fine  light  slip  into  her  blue  eyes  at  the 
sight  of  him.  Her  cheeks,  which  had  been  unusu- 
ally pale  when  she  opened  the  door,  flushed  bright 
and  deep.  The  young  man  greeted  her  pleasantly 
and  easily,  and  stepped  across  the  threshold.  Pat 
was  already  out  of  bed  and  seated  in  his  chair  close 
to  the  stove.  He  was  long  and  thin,  with  a  strag- 
gling beard  and  moustaches,  a  long  face,  a  long 
nose,  and  kindly,  twinkling  eyes.  Though  he 
looked  happy  enough  he  also  looked  like  a  widower 
—  why,  I  can't  say.  It  may  have  been  owing  to 
his  general  unstowed,  unfurled,  unswabbed  appear- 


Some  Early  Visits  143 

ance.  He  had  not  yet  fastened  on  his  wooden  leg. 
He  never  did,  nowadays,  until  he  had  eaten  his 
breakfast  and  played  a  tune  or  two  on  his  fiddle. 
His  eyes  were  paler  than  his  daughter's,  and  not 
nearly  so  bright,  and  he  had  a  way  of  staring  at 
a  thing  for  minutes  at  a  time  as  if  he  did  not  see 
it  —  and  usually  he  didn't.  Altogether,  he  was  a 
very  impractical  person.  He  must  have  made  a 
feeble  sailor  —  a  regular  fool  as  a  look-out  —  and 
the  wonder  is  that  he  lost  only  one  leg  during  his 
deep-sea  career.  He  looked  at  the  skipper  with  that 
calm,  far-away  shimmer  in  his  eyes,  combing  his 
thin  whiskers  with  his  fingers.  He  did  not  speak. 
His  wooden  leg  was  leaning  up  against  his 
chair. 

"  Good  morning  to  ye,  Pat  Kavanagh,"  said  the 
skipper. 

The  poet  blinked  his  eyes,  thereby  altering  their 
expression  from  a  shimmer  to  a  gray,  wise  gleam. 

"  So  it  bes  yerself,  Skipper  Denny,"  he  said. 
"  Set  down.  Set  down.  Sure,  b'y,  I  didn't  ex- 
pect to  see  ye  so  spry  to-day,  an'  was  just  studyin' 
out  a  few  verses  concernin'  death  an'  pride  an' 
ructions  that  would  keep  yer  memory  green." 

"  Whist,  father !  "  exclaimed  the  girl. 


144  The  Harbor  Master 

"  I  hain't  dead,  Pat,  so  ye  kin  set  to  on  some 
new  varses,"  said  the  skipper.  "  If  ye  t'ought  them 
poor  fools  ye  heard  yowlin'  last  night  was  to  be 
the  death  o'  me,  then  ye  was  on  the  wrong  tack. 
But  I  bes  here  now  to  ax  yer  opinion  concernin' 
them  same  fools,  Pat.  Yesterday  they  raised  a 
mutiny  agin  me,  all  along  o'  a  poor  girl  as  I  saved 
from  the  wrack,  an'  last  night  an'  this  mornin'  I 
lamed  'em  the  error  o'  their  ways.  Now  ye  was 
once  a  deep-sea  sailorman,  Pat,  a-sailin'  foreign 
v'yages,  an'  so  I  wants  ye  to  tell  me  what  I'd  bet- 
ter be  doin'  wid  some  o'  them  squid?  There  was 
Foxey  Jack  Quinn;  but  he  run  away  an'  done  for 
himself  in  the  flurry.  Here  bes  Dick  Lynch,  nigh 
as  treacherous  an'  full  o'  divilment  as  ever  Jack 
was,  growlin'  an'  snarlin'  at  me  heels  like  a  starvin' 
husky  an'  showin'  his  teeth  every  now  an'  agin. 
So  I  wants  to  know,  Pat,  will  I  kill  him  dead  or  run 
him  out  o'  the  harbor?  I  bes  skipper  here  —  aye, 
an'  more  nor  skipper  —  an'  all  a  man  has  to  do 
to  live  safe  an'  happy  an'  rich  in  this  harbor  bes 
to  do  what  I  tells  him  to  do  —  but  this  here  Dick 
Lynch  bain't  knowledgeable  enough  to  see  it.  I's 
had  to  bat  him  twice.  Next  time  I  bats  him  maybe 
I'd  best  finish  the  job?  I  puts  it  to  ye,  Pat  Kav- 


Some  Early  Visits  145 

anagh,  because  ye  knows  the  world  an'  how  sich 
things  bes  done  aboard  foreign-going  ships." 

"  This  harbor  bain't  no  foreign-going  ship, 
Denny,"  replied  the  poet. 

"  True,  Pat ;  but  if  I  calls  it  a  ship  it  bes  the 
same  as  one !  "  retorted  the  skipper. 

"  If  ye  takes  it  that  way,  Denny,  then  ye'd  best 
be  handin'  the  lad  over  to  the  jedges  to  be  tried 
for  mutiny,"  suggested  the  other,  quietly.  "  But  if 
ye  wants  my  opinion,  ye'll  leave  him  be." 

"Leave  him  be?" 

"  Aye.  He  bain't  worth  troublin'  about.  Bat 
him  now  an'  agin,  if  he  tries  to  knife  ye,  an'  maybe 
he'll  follow  Jack  Quinn.  But  this  harbor  bain't 
a  ship,  lad.  The  skipper  o'  a  ship  has  the  law  to 
his  back  in  cases  o'  mutiny  an'  the  like  —  but  the 
law  bain't  behind  ye,  Dennis  Nolan !  " 

"  The  divil  fly  away  wid  the  law !  "  cried  the 
skipper.  "  I  bes  skipper  here !  I  makes  the  law 
for  this  harbor  —  an'  them  as  don't  like  the  laws 
I  makes  kin  go  somewheres  else." 

"  Leave  him  be,  skipper.  That  bes  what  I  tells 
ye,  for  yer  own  good.  Don't  kill  him.  Ye  kin 
break  up  desarted  wracks;  ye  kin  fill  yer  pockets 
wid  gold;  ye  kin  bat  yer  mates  over  the  nob  if 


146  The  Harbor  Master 

ye  wants  to ;  but  once  ye  gets  to  killin'  men,  Denny 
Nolan,  then  ye'll  find  the  law  to  yer  back  sure 
enough,  a-fixin'  a  noose  around  yer  neck!  Aye, 
lad,  that  bes  the  truth !  I  warns  ye  because  I  likes 
ye  —  an'  I  bes  glad  to  see  ye  so  prosperous." 


CHAPTER    X 

MARY   KAVANAGH 

A  NUMBER  of  men  with  sore  heads  and  dry 
mouths  made  their  way  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  across 
the  barrens  and  into  a  thin  belt  of  spruces.  There 
they  worked  as  well  as  they  could  at  cutting  timber 
for  Father  McQueen's  church.  They  were  a  dolor- 
ous company.  The  daring  spirit  of  mutiny  had 
passed  away,  leaving  behind  it  the  fear  of  the 
skipper.  The  courage,  uplift  and  inspiring  glow 
of  the  brandy  had  ebbed  and  evaporated,  leaving 
the  quaking  stomach,  the  swimming  brain,  the 
misty  eye.  They  groaned  as  they  hacked  at  the 
trees,  for  the  desire  to  lie  down  on  the  cold  snow 
was  heavy  upon  them;  but  still  they  hacked  away, 
for  the  fear  of  Black  Dennis  Nolan,  the  unconquer- 
able, was  like  a  hot  breath  upon  their  necks.  They 
said  some  bitter  things  about  Dick  Lynch. 

The  skipper  visited  the  wreck,  accompanied  by 
Bill  Brennen  and  a  few  of  the  men  and  boys  who 
had  not  taken  part  in  yesterday's  mutiny.  The 

147 


148  The  Harbor  Master 

sea  was  almost  flat  and  there  was  no  wind.  The 
hatches  were  broken  open;  and  what  they  could 
see  of  the  Royal  William's  cargo  looked  entirely 
satisfactory  to  them  —  sail-cloth,  blankets,  all  man- 
ner of  woollen  and  cotton  goods,  boots  and  shoes, 
hams,  cheeses  and  tinned  meats.  Though  some 
of  these  things  were  damaged  by  the  salt  water, 
few  of  them  were  ruined  by  it.  They  worked  all 
day  at  winching  out  the  cargo.  Next  day,  the  men 
who  had  cooled  their  sore  heads  in  the  woods  were 
also  put  to  work  on  the  stranded  ship.  With  tim- 
bers and  tarpaulins  from  the  ship  they  built  a  store- 
house on  the  barren,  in  the  midst  of  a  thicket  of 
spruces.  In  the  two  days  they  managed  to  save 
about  a  quarter  of  the  cargo.  The  skipper  drove 
them  hard,  an  iron  belaying  pin  in  his  hand  and 
slashing  words  always  on  his  lips.  But  even  the 
dullest  of  them  saw  that  he  neither  drove,  cursed 
nor  threatened  Bill  Brennen,  Nick  Leary  or  any  of 
the  men  who  had  kept  out  of  the  mutiny.  Most 
of  the  stuff  that  was  salvaged  was  put  in  the  new 
store,  but  a  few  hundreds  of  pounds  of  it  were 
carried  to  the  harbor. 

During  these  two  days  the  skipper  did  not  once 
set  eyes  on  the  girl  he  had  saved  from  the  fore- 


Mary  Kavanagh  149 

top.  Mother  Nolan  would  not  let  him  approach 
within  two  yards  of  the  door  of  the  room  in  which 
she  lay.  It  seemed,  from  Mother  Nolan's  talk,  that 
the  beautiful  stranger  was  always  sleeping.  But, 
through  the  old  woman,  he  learned  her  name.  It 
was  Flora  Lockhart. 

When  the  skipper  and  Cormick  reached  home 
after  the  second  day's  work  on  the  cargo,  Mother 
Nolan  told  them  that  Flora  was  in  the  grip  of  a 
desperate  fever,  upon  which  none  of  her  brews 
of  roots  and  herbs  seemed  to  have  any  effect.  She 
was  hot  as  fire  and  babbled  continually  of  things 
strange  and  mad  to  the  ears  of  the  old  woman. 
The  skipper  was  dismayed  at  the  news;  but  his 
vigorous  mind  immediately  began  to  search  for  a 
means  of  dealing  with  the  fever.  He  knew  nothing 
of  any  remedies  save  the  local  ones,  in  the  manu- 
facture and  administering  of  which  his  grand- 
mother was  a  mistress.  But  here  was  the  Royal 
William's  medicine-chest,  and  here  was  Pat  Kava- 
nagh who  had  sailed  foreign  voyages  in  vessels 
carrying  similar  chests.  He  rushed  from  the  house 
straight  to  the  poet-fiddler's  cabin.  He  pushed  open 
the  door  and  entered  without  knocking,  as  the  cus- 
tom is  in  Chance  Along.  Mary  was  attending  to 


150  The  Harbor  Master 

a  stew-pan  on  the  stove,  and  Pat  was  seated  in  his 
chair  with  his  wooden  leg  strapped  in  place.  The 
skipper  told  of  the  stranger's  fever. 

"  An'  ye  has  the  ship's  medicine-chest?  "  queried 
Pat.  "  Then  we'll  give  her  the  bitter  white  powder 
—  quinine  —  aye,  quinine.  Every  ship  carries  it, 
lad.  When  I  was  took  wid  the  fever  in  Port-o'- 
Spain  didn't  the  mate  shake  it  on  to  me  tongue 
till  me  ears  crackled  like  hail  on  the  roof,  an'  when 
I  got  past  stickin'  out  me  tongue  didn't  he  mix  it 
wid  whiskey  an'  pour  it  into  me?  Sure,  Denny! 
An'  it  knocked  the  fever  galley  west  in  t'ree  days 
an'  left  me  limp  as  cook's  dish-clout  hangin'  to  dry 
under  the  starboard  life-boat.  But  it  bes  better 
nor  dyin'  entirely  wid  the  fever.  I'll  step  round 
wid  ye,  skipper,  and  p'int  out  this  here  quinine 
to  ye." 

And  he  did.  He  found  a  large  bottle  of  quinine 
in  the  box,  in  powder  form.  He  measured  out  a 
quantity  of  it  in  doses  of  from  three  to  five  grains, 
for  his  memory  of  the  sizes  of  the  doses  adminis- 
tered to  him  by  the  mate  was  somewhat  dim,  and 
advised  Mother  Nolan  not  to  give  the  powders  too 
often  nor  yet  not  often  enough.  Mother  Nolan 
asked  for  more  exact  directions.  She  felt  that  she 


Mary  Kavanagh  151 

had  a  right  to  them.  Pat  Kavanagh  combed  his 
long  whiskers  reflectively  with  his  long  fingers, 
gazing  at  the  medicine-chest  with  a  far-away  look 
in  his  pale  eyes. 

"  I  don't  rightly  recollect  the  ins  an'  outs  o'  me 
own  case,"  he  said,  at  last,  "  but  I  has  a  dim  picter 
in  me  mind  o'  how  Mister  Swim,  the  mate,  shook 
the  powder  on  to  me  tongue  every  blessed  time  I 
opened  me  mouth  to  holler.  An'  the  b'ys  let  me 
drink  all  the  cold  water  I  could  hold  —  aye,  an' 
never  once  did  they  wake  me  up  when  I  was  sleepin' 
quiet,  not  even  to  give  the  quinine  to  me.  An' 
they  stowed  me  in  blankets  an'  made  me  sweat, 
though  the  fo'castle  was  hotter  nor  the  hatches  o' 
hell.  An'  when  I  wouldn't  stick  out  me  tongue 
for  the  powder  then  they'd  melt  it  in  whiskey  an' 
pour  it  down  me  neck." 

With  this  Mother  Nolan  had  to  be  content.  She 
retired  to  her  own  room,  mixed  a  powder  in  a  cup 
of  root-tea  and  gave  it  to  the  girl,  who  was  quiet 
now,  though  wide-awake  and  bright-eyed.  Kava- 
nagh went  home,  invented  a  ballad  about  his  fever 
in  Port-o'-Spain,  and  wrote  it  upon  his  memory, 
verse  by  verse  —  for  he  did  not  possess  the  art  of 
writing  upon  paper.  After  supper  Cormick  retired 


152  The  Harbor  Master 

to  the  loft  and  his  bed;  but  the  skipper  did  not 
touch  a  blanket  that  night.  He  spent  most  of  the 
time  in  his  chair  by  the  stove;  but  once  in  every 
hour  he  tiptoed  into  his  grandmother's  room  and 
listened.  If  he  heard  any  sound  from  the  inner 
room  when  the  old  woman  happened  to  be  asleep 
he  awakened  her  and  sent  her  in  to  Flora  Lockhart. 
At  dawn  he  fell  asleep  in  his  chair  and  dreamed 
that  he  was  the  mate  of  a  foreign-going  ship,  and 
that  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  shake  white  powders 
on  to  the  tongue  of  the  girl  he  had  saved  from  the 
fore-top  of  the  Royal  William.  Cormick  shook  him 
awake  when  breakfast  was  ready.  After  hearing 
from  Mother  Nolan  that  the  girl  seemed  much 
cooler  and  better  than  she  had  since  the  early  after- 
noon of  the  previous  day,  he  ate  his  breakfast  and 
went  out  and  sent  all  the  able-bodied  men  to  get 
timber  for  Father  McQueen's  church,  some  from 
the  woods  and  others  from  the  wreck.  They  would 
haul  the  timber  after  the  next  fall  of  snow.  But 
he  did  not  go  abroad  himself.  He  hung  about  the 
harbor  all  day,  sometimes  in  his  own  kitchen,  some- 
times down  on  the  land-wash,  and  sometimes  in 
other  men's  cabins.  He  put  a  new  dressing  on  the 
wound  of  the  lad  who  had  received  the  knife  and 


Mary  Kavanagh  153 

paid  another  visit  to  Dick  Lynch.  Lynch  was  still 
in  bed;  but  this  time  he  did  not  drag  him  out  on 
the  floor. 

Mother  Nolan  was  full  of  common  sense  and 
wise  instincts,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  believed 
in  fairies,  mermaids  and  the  personal  attentions  of 
the  devil.  She  was  doctor  and  nurse  by  nature 
as  well  as  by  practice  —  by  everything,  in  short, 
but  education.  So  it  happened  that  she  did  not 
follow  Pat  Kavanagh's  instructions  to  the  letter. 
She  argued  to  herself  that  Pat's  fever  had  been 
a  hot-climate  one,  while  Flora  Lockhart's  was  un- 
doubtedly a  cold-climate  one.  She  saw  that  the 
girl's  trouble  was  a  sickness,  accompanied  by  high 
fever,  brought  on  by  cold  and  exposure.  So  she 
did  not  give  the  quinine  quite  as  generously  as  the 
fiddler  had  recommended,  and  kept  right  on  with  her 
hot  brews  of  herbs  and  roots  in  addition.  Instinct 
told  her  that  if  she  could  drive  out  the  cold  the 
fever  would  follow  it  out  of  its  own  accord. 

In  the  afternoon  the  girl  became  restless  and 
highly  feverish  again,  and  by  sunset  she  was 
slightly  delirious.  She  talked  constantly  in  her 
wonderful  voice  of  fa'me,  of  great  cities  and  of 
many  more  things  which  sounded  meaningless  and 


154  The  Harbor  Master 

alarming  to  Mother  Nolan.  For  a  little  while  she 
thought  she  was  on  the  Royal  William,  talking  to 
the  captain  about  the  great  reception  that  awaited 
her  in  New  York,  her  own  city,  which  she  had 
left  four  years  ago,  humble  and  unknown,  and  was 
now  returning  to,  garlanded  with  European  recog- 
nition. It  was  all  double-Dutch  to  Mother  Nolan. 
She  put  an  end  to  it  with  her  potent  dose  of  quinine 
and  whiskey.  She  spent  this  night  in  her  patient's 
room,  keeping  the  fire  roaring  and  catching  cat- 
naps in  a  chair  by  the  hearth;  and  the  skipper 
haunted  the  other  side  of  the  door.  Toward  morn- 
ing the  girl  asked  for  a  drink,  as  sanely  as  anybody 
could,  took  it  eagerly,  and  then  sank  into  a  quiet 
sleep.  The  old  woman  nodded  in  her  chair.  The 
skipper  tiptoed  back  to  the  kitchen  and  flung  him- 
self across  his  bed. 

After  the  fourth  day  of  the  fight  against  the 
fever  Mother  Nolan  saw  that  the  struggle  was 
likely  to  prove  too  much  for  her,  if  prolonged  at 
the  present  pitch,  whatever  it  might  prove  for  Flora 
Lockhart;  so  she  sent  the  skipper  over  to  bring 
Mary  Kavanagh  to  her.  Now  Mary  was  as  kind- 
hearted  and  honest  as  she  was  big  and  beautiful. 
Her  mind  was  strong  and  sane,  and  spiced  with 


Mary  Kavanagh  155 

a  quick  wit.  Her  kindness  and  honesty  were  spiced 
with  a  warm  temper.  She  was  human  all  through. 
As  she  could  flame  to  love  so  could  she  flame  to 
anger.  As  she  could  melt  to  pity  so  could  she  chill 
to  pride.  In  short,  though  she  was  a  fine  and  good 
young  woman,  she  wasn't  an  angel.  Angels  have 
their  place  in  heaven;  and  the  place  and  duty  of 
Mary  Kavanagh  was  on  this  poor  earth,  where 
men's  souls  are  still  held  in  shells  of  clay  and 
wrenched  this  way  and  that  way  by  the  sorrows 
and  joys  of  their  red  hearts.  Like  most  good 
human  women,  Mary  had  all  the  makings  of  a 
saint  in  her;  but  heaven  itself  could  never  make 
a  sexless,  infallible  angel  of  her. 

Mary  told  her  father  not  to  forget  to  keep  the 
fire  burning,  threw  a  blue  cloak  over  her  head  and 
shoulders,  and  accompanied  the  skipper  back  to 
Mother  Nolan.  Short  as  the  distance  was  between 
the  two  dwellings  she  glanced  twice  at  her  com- 
panion, with  kindliness,  inquiry  and  something  of 
anxiety  in  her  dark  gray  eyes.  But  he  stared  ahead 
of  him  so  intently,  with  eyes  somewhat  haggard 
from  lack  of  sleep,  that  he  did  not  notice  the 
glances.  Mother  Nolan  welcomed  her  joyfully. 

"  Help  me  tend   on   this  poor   lamb    from   the 


156  The  Harbor  Master 

wrack,"  said  the  old  woman,  "  an'  ye'll  be  the 
savin'  of  me  life.  Me  poor  old  eyes  feels  heavy 
as  stove-lids,  Mary  dear." 

"  Sure,  I'll  help  ye,  Mother  Nolan,  an'  why 
not?"  returned  Mary,  throwing  aside  her  cloak 
from  her  smooth  brown  head  and  strong,  shapely 
shoulders.  "  Father  kin  mind  himself,  if  he  bes 
put  to  it,  for  a  little  while.  Now  tell  me  what  ye 
does  for  the  lady,  Mother  Nolan,  dear,  an'  give 
me  a  look  at  her,  an'  then  pop  into  bed  wid  ye, 
an'  I'll  lay  a  bottle  o'  hot  water  to  yer  feet." 

"  Saints  bless  ye,  me  dear.  May  every  hair  o' 
yer  darlint  head  turn  into  a  wax  candle  to  light 
ye  to  glory  amongst  the  holy  saints,"  returned 
the  old  woman. 

So  it  came  about  that  Mary  Kavanagh  joined 
in  the  fight  for  the  life  of  the  girl  from  the  wreck. 
She  stood  her  trick  at  Flora's  bedside  turn  and 
turn  about  with  the  old  woman,  quiet  as  a  fairy 
on  her  feet,  though  she  was  surely  as  big  as  a 
dozen  fairies,  quiet  as  a  whisper  with  her  voice, 
her  hands  as  gentle  as  snow  that  falls  in  windless 
weather.  She  did  not  worry  about  her  father. 
There  was  bread  in  the  bin  and  fish  in  the  shed 
for  him,  and  he  had  his  fiddle  and  his  ballads. 


Mary  Kavanagh  157 

Every  evening,  sometimes  before  and  sometimes 
after  supper,  he  came  over  and  sat  with  the  skip- 
per, combing  his  long  beard  with  his  restless  fin- 
gers, and  telling  improbable  tales  of  his  deep-sea 
voyages. 

The  skipper's  faith  in  his  grandmother  and  Mary 
was  great.  He  soon  schooled  himself  to  stay  away 
from  the  house  for  hours  at  a  time,  and  give  at  least 
half  his  attention  to  the  work  of  impressing  the  men 
with  his  mastery,  and  getting  out  lumber  for  the 
little  church  which  Father  McQueen  was  to  build 
in  June,  on  the  barrens  behind  and  above  Chance 
Along.  The  men  felt  and  knew  his  touch  of  mas- 
tery. They  felt  that  this  work  at  church-building 
was  sure  to  lift  any  curse  and  devilment  from  the 
harbor,  if  such  things  had  really  been,  and  establish 
the  skipper's  good  luck  for  all  time.  Dick  Lynch, 
who  still  walked  feebly,  with  a  bandage  about  his 
head,  was  in  bad  repute  with  all  of  them,  and  more 
especially  with  the  blood-kin  of  the  young  man 
whom  he  had  knifed  in  the  drunken  fight  over  the 
gold.  But  the  youth  who  had  been  knifed,  Pat 
Brennen  by  name,  was  in  a  fair  way  to  recover 
from  the  wound,  thanks  to  the  skipper's  care  and 
the  surgical  dressings  from  the  Royal  William's 


158  The  Harbor  Master 

medicine-chest.  So  they  worked  well,  ate  well, 
clothed  themselves  in  warm  garments  made  by  their 
womenfolk  from  the  goods  saved  from  the  last 
wreck,  and  said  with  their  undependable  tongues, 
from  the  shallows  of  their  undependable  hearts,  that 
Black  Dennis  Nolan  was  a  great  man  and  a  terrible. 
The  spirit  of  distrust  and  revolt  was  dead  —  or 
sound  asleep,  at  least. 

The  hot  poison  of  the  fever  in  Flora  Lockhart's 
blood  was  drawn  after  days  of  ceaseless  care  and 
innumerable  doses  of  quinine  and  brews  of  herbs 
and  roots;  but  it  left  behind  it  a  weakness  of  spirit 
and  body,  and  a  dangerous  condition  of  chest  and 
throat.  Mother  Nolan  and  Mary  Kavanagh  saw 
that  the  fight  was  only  half  won,  and  neither  of 
them  laid  aside  their  arms  for  a  moment,  though 
they  changed  their  tactics.  Now  the  fire  in  the 
chimney  was  kept  roaring  more  fiercely  than  ever, 
bottles  of  hot  water  were  kept  always  in  the  bed, 
the  blankets  were  heated  freely,  and  hot  broth  and 
steaming  spirits  were  given  in  place  of  the  brews 
of  roots  and  leaves.  The  skipper  and  Cormick  went 
far  afield  and  succeeded  in  shooting  several  willow- 
grouse,  and  these  Mother  Nolan  made  into  broth 
for  Flora.  The  best  of  everything  that  could  be 


Mary  Kavanagh  159 

procured  was  hers.  She  began  to  recover  strength 
at  last,  and  then  each  day  brought  improvement. 
By  this  time  she  and  Mary  Kavanagh  had  warmed 
toward  each  other  until  a  friendship  was  estab- 
lished. Flora  had  thanked  Mary  beautifully,  many 
times  over,  for  her  care,  and  had  talked  a  great 
deal  of  herself  and  her  ambitions.  She  had  told 
Mary  and  Mother  Nolan  the  hardships  and  glories 
of  her  past  and  her  great  dreams  for  the  future. 
On  the  day  that  Mary  was  to  go  back  to  her  father, 
Flora  drew  her  down  and  kissed  her  fondly. 

"  You  and  Mother  Nolan  have  saved  my  life," 
she  said,  "  and  I  am  your  friend  —  yours  especially, 
Mary  —  forever  and  ever.  I  shall  prove  my  love 
and  gratitude,  you  may  be  sure.  Out  in  the  big 
world,  Mary,  I  am  somebody  —  I  have  the  power 
to  do  kindnesses  and  repay  debts.  New  York  is 
full  of  fame  and  money,  and  a  great  deal  of  it  is 
waiting  for  me." 

Mary  thanked  her,  kissed  her  in  return,  and  said 
gently  that  she  did  not  want  to  be  rewarded  for 
her  nursing,  except  by  love.  She  added  that  it  was 
Black  Dennis  Nolan,  the  skipper,  who  had  saved 
Flora's  life. 

"  I  remember  him  vaguely,"  said  the  other.    "  He 


160  The  Harbor  Master 

took  me  away  from  that  terrible  place  where  I  was 
swaying  and  tossing  between  the  waves  and  the 
sky.  The  queer  things  I  saw  in  my  fever  dreams 
have  dimmed  the  memory  of  the  wreck,  thank  God 
—  and  now  they  themselves  are  growing  dim.  He 
is  a  big  man,  is  he  not,  and  young  and  very  strong? 
And  his  eyes  are  almost  black,  I  think.  I  will  pay 
him  for  what  he  has  done,  you  may  be  sure,  Mary. 
I  suppose  he  is  a  fisherman,  or  something  of  that 
kind?" 

"  He  bain't  the  kind  to  want  money  for  what 
he  has  done,"  said  Mary,  slowly.  "  He  be  skipper 
o'  Chance  Along,  like  his  father  was  afore  him  — 
but  there  never  was  another  skipper  like  him,  for 
all  that.  He  saved  ye  from  the  wrack,  an'  now  ye 
lay  in  his  house  —  but  I  warns  ye  not  to  offer 
money  to  him  for  the  sarvice  he  has  done  ye.  Sure, 
he  wouldn't  be  needin'  the  money,  an'  wouldn't  take 
it  if  he  was.  He  lives  by  the  sea  —  aye,  in  his  own 
way !  —  an'  when  the  sea  feeds  full  at  all  she  fills 
her  men  with  the  divil's  own  pride." 

Flora  was  puzzled  and  slightly  amused.  She 
patted  the  other's  hand  and  smiled  up  at  her. 

"Is  he  so  rich  then?"  she  asked.  "And  what 
is  a  skipper?  —  if  he  is  not  the  captain  of  a  ship? 


Mary  Kavanagh  161 

How  can  a  man  be  the  skipper  of  a  village  like 
this?" 

"  His  father  was  skipper,"  replied  Mary.  "  The 
fore-an'-aft  schooner  bes  his,  an'  the  store  wid 
flour  an'  tea  in  it  for  whoever  needs  them.  It  bes 
the  way  o'  the  coast  —  more  or  less." 

"Have  any  letters  come  for  me?  Have  people 
from  New  York  arranged  yet  to  take  me  away?  " 
asked  Flora,  suddenly  forgetting  about  the  skipper 
and  remembering  her  own  career  so  terribly  inter- 
rupted and  so  strangely  retarded.  "  I  shall  be  able 
to  travel  in  a  few  days,  I  think.  What  have  the 
newspapers  said  about  my  misfortunes?" 

The  pink  faded  a  little  from  Mary's  cheeks  and 
her  gray  eyes  seemed  to  dim. 

"  Saints  love  ye ! "  she  said.  "  There  bes  no 
letters  for  ye,  my  dear  —  an'  how  would  there  be  ? 
Up-along  they'll  be  still  waitin'  for  the  ship  —  or 
maybe  they  have  give  up  waitin'  by  this  time.  How 
would  they  know  she  was  wracked  on  this  coast  ?  " 

The  beautiful  singer  gazed  at  her  in  consterna- 
tion and  amazement.  Her  wonderful  sea-eyes 
flashed  to  their  clear  sea-depths  where  the  cross- 
lights  lay. 

"  But  —  but   has   no   word   been   sent   to    New 


162  The  Harbor  Master 

York?  —  to  anywhere?"  she  cried.  "Surely  you 
cannot  mean  that  people  do  not  know  of  the  wreck, 
and  that  I  am  here?  What  of  the  owners  of  the 
ship  ?  Oh,  God,  what  a  place !  " 

Mary  was  startled  for  a  moment,  then  thoughtful. 
She  had  never  before  wondered  what  the  great 
world  of  "  Up-along  "  —  which  is  everywhere  south 
and  east  and  west  of  Newfoundland,  London,  New 
York,  Pernambuco,  Halifax,  Montreal,  Africa, 
China  and  the  lands  and  seas  around  and  between 
—  must  think  of  the  ships  that  sail  away  and  never 
return.  Wrecks  had  always  seemed  to  her  as  nat- 
ural as  tides  and  storms.  When  the  tide  comes 
in  who  thinks  of  reporting  it  to  the  great  world? 
Spars  and  shattered  timbers  come  in  on  the  tides; 
and  sometimes  hulls  more  or  less  unbroken;  and 
sometimes  living  humans.  Mary  had  seen  some- 
thing of  these  things  herself  and  had  heard  much. 
She  had  never  known  of  the  spars  or  hulls  being 
claimed  by  any  person  but  the  folk  who  found  them 
and  fought  with  the  sea  for  them.  She  had  seen 
shipwrecked  sailors  tarry  awhile,  take  their  food 
thankfully,  and  presently  set  out  for  St.  John's  and 
the  world  beyond,  by  way  of  Witless  Bay.  None 
of  them  had  ever  come  back  to  Chance  Along. 


Mary  Kavanagh  163 

"  I  bes  sorry  for  ye  wid  my  whole  heart,"  she 
said.  "  Yer  folks  will  be  mournin'  for  ye,  I  fear  — 
for  how  would  they  know  ye  was  safe  in  Chance 
Along?  But  the  saints  have  presarved  your  life, 
dear,  an'  when  spring-time  comes  then  ye  can  sail 
'round  to  St.  John's  an'  away  to  New  York.  But 
sure,  we  might  have  writ  a  letter  about  ye  an'  car- 
ried it  out  to  Witless  Bay.  The  skipper  can  write." 

"  I  have  been  buried  alive !  "  cried  Flora,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hands  and  weeping  unre- 
strainedly. 

Mary  tried  to  comfort  her,  then  left  the  room  to 
find  Mother  Nolan.  The  old  woman  was  in  the 
kitchen,  and  Dennis  was  with  her. 

"  She  bes  desperate  wrought-up  because  —  be- 
cause her  folks  up-along  will  think  she  bes  dead," 
explained  Mary.  "  She  says  she  bes  buried  alive 
in  Chance  Along.  Skipper,  ye  had  best  write  a 
letter  about  herself  an'  the  wrack,  an'  send  it  out. 
She  bes  a  great  person  up-along." 

The  skipper  sprang  to  his  feet,  staring  at  her 
with  a  blank  face  and  with  defiance  in  his  eyes. 

"  A  letter !  "  he  exclaimed,  huskily.  "  No,  by 
hell!  Let  'em  t'ink  what  they  wants  to!  Bain't 
Chance  Along  good  enough  for  her  ?  " 


CHAPTER    XI 

THE   SKIPPER    CARRIES   A   LETTER 

MARY  KAVANAGH  paled,  flushed  again,  and  low- 
ered her  eyes.  Old  Mother  Nolan  turned  a  search- 
ing glance  upon  her  grandson  —  a  glance  with 
derision  and  something  of  pity  in  it. 

"  An'  how  would  Chance  Along  be  good  enough 
for  the  likes  o'  her?"  said  she.  "Denny  Nolan, 
bes  ye  a  fool  entirely?  Good  enough  for  her,  says 
ye  —  an'  her  singin'  like  a  lark  afore  the  young 
Queen  herself,  saints  presarve  her,  wid  the  Prince 
an*  the  dukes  a-settin'  round  in  their  grand  gold 
crowns,  a-t'rowin'  roses  an'  jewels  at  her  little  feet! 
What  bes  Chance  Along  to  her  —  aye,  an'  any  poor 
soul  in  it?  We've  give  her  life  back  to  her,  Denny, 
me  lad,  an'  now  we'll  give  herself  back  to  the  grand 
world  o'  up-along,  where  great  singers  bes  nigh  the 
same  as  great  ladies,  as  I  have  heard  me  own  grand- 
father tell,  who  was  once  in  Dublin  a-holdin'  the 
gentry's  horses  at  the  play-house  door." 

164 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        165 

The  skipper  glared  straight  before  him,  then  sank 
into  his  chair. 

"  I'll  pen  no  letter,"  he  said,  "  I  swears  it  by  the 
knuckle-bortes  o'  the  holy  saints!  " 

Mother  Nolan  turned  to  Mary,  wagging  her  head. 

"  There  bes  ink  an'  a  pen  on  the  shelf  there, 
an'  a  scrap  o'  clean  paper  in  Denny's  great  book 
yonder,"  she  said.  "  Take  'em  to  her  an'  let  her 
pen  the  word  wid  her  own  hand."  She  turned  to 
Denny.  "  And  ye,  Denny  Nolan,  will  send  it  out 
to  Witless  Bay,  an'  from  Witless  Bay  to  St.  John's, 
an'  so  to  New  York." 

"  I  hears  ye,"  returned  the  skipper. 

"  Aye,  that  ye  do,"  said  the  spirited  old  woman, 
"  an'  a  good  t'ing  for  ye  I  bes  here  to  tell  ye ! 
Why  for  wouldn't  ye  be  sendin'  out  the  letter? 
What  for  d'ye  be  wantin'  Miss  Flora  Lockhart  to 
stop  here  in  Chance  Along  ?  —  and  her  who  never 
put  a  hand  to  a  stroke  o'  honest  work  since  her 
mother  bore  her !  —  her  who  sang  to  the  Queen 
o'  England!  Ye'd  be  better,  Denny,  wid  a  real 
true  mermaid,  tail  an'  all,  in  Chance  Along.  Wrack 
ye  kin  break  abroad ;  cargoes  ye  kin  lift  an'  devour; 
gold  an'  jewels  ye  kin  hide  away;  but  when  live 
women  be  t'rowed  up  to  ye  by  the  sea  ye  kin  do 


166  The  Harbor  Master 

naught  but  let  'em  go.  The  divil  bes  in  the  women, 
lad  —  the  women  from  up-along.  An'  the  law 
would  be  on  yer  heels  —  aye,  an'  on  to  yer  neck  — 
afore  ye  knowed  how  the  wind  was  blowin'!  An' 
what  would  his  riverence  be  sayin'  to  ye?  " 

Mary  Kavanagh  had  left  the  kitchen  by  this  time, 
carrying  pen,  ink  and  paper  to  the  girl  in  Father 
McQueen's  room.  Denny  raised  his  head,  and  met 
the  regard  of  his  grandmother's  bright  old  eyes 
proudly. 

"  I  wants  to  marry  her,"  he  said.  "  An'  why 
not  ?  Bain't  I  skipper  here  —  aye,  skipper  o'  every 
man  an'  boat  in  the  harbor?  She'd  have  no  call 
to  touch  her  hand  to  honest  work  if  she  was  my 
wife.  Bain't  I  rich?  —  and  like  to  be  richer?  I'll 
build  her  a  grand  house.  She'll  have  wine  every 
day,  an'  jewels  on  her  fingers,  an'  naught  to  do  all 
day,  by  Saint  Peter,  but  put  the  gowns  o'  silk  on  to 
her  back.  Bain't  that  better  nor  singin'  an'  ca- 
vortin'  afore  the  Queen  ?  " 

"  Denny,  ye  bes  a  fool,  sure,  for  all  yer  great 
oaths  an'  masterful  ways  wid  the  men,"  said 
Mother  Nolan.  "  Ye  bes  a  fool  over  a  woman  — 
an'  that  be  the  weakest  kind  o'  fool !  What  would 
a  lady  like  her  be  wantin'  wid  ye  for  a  husband? 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        167 

—  wid  a  ignorant  great  fisherman  the  like  o'  ye, 
skipper  o'  no  skipper?  What  bes  a  skipper  to  the 
like  o'  her?  No  more  nor  a  dog,  Denny  Nolan! 
She'd  break  yer  heart  an'  send  yer  soul  to  damna- 
tion!" 

The  skipper  left  his  chair  without  a  word,  and 
strode  from  the  kitchen  to  Mother  Nolan's  own 
room,  stooping  as  he  passed  through  the  low  door- 
way. He  advanced  until  he  reached  Flora's  room. 
It  was  shut.  He  halted  for  a  moment,  breathing 
quickly,  then  rapped  with  his  knuckles,  and  opened 
the  door.  Flora  was  sitting  upright  in  the  bed, 
backed  by  pillows  and  with  a  shawl  over  her  shoul- 
ders. She  had  been  writing;  and  Mary  stood  be- 
side the  bed  and  held  the  bottle  of  time-faded  ink 
for  her.  Both  girls  looked  up  with  startled  faces 
at  the  skipper's  entrance.  The  young  man  halted 
in  the  middle  of  the  room,  and  stared  at  the  singer. 
It  was  the  first  time  he  had  seen  her  since  the  day 
he  had  saved  her  from  the  Royal  William's  fore-top 
and  brought  her  to  this  house.  He  saw  that  her 
face  was  thinner  now  than  on  that  day,  but  no  paler. 
The  wonderful  eyes  were  as  clear,  as  bright  as 
crystal,  and  yet  as  limpid,  as  when  they  had  first 
opened  to  him,  there  on  the  swaying  cross-trees, 


168  The  Harbor  Master 

and  worked  their  spell  on  him.  But  the  lips  were 
red  now — as  red  and  bewitching  as  a  mermaid's 
lips  are  supposed  to  be.  She  was  the  first  to  speak. 

"What  is  it?  What  do  you  want?"  she  asked 
somewhat  fretfully,  in  that  silver  voice  that  had 
delighted  the  ears  of  the  young  Queen  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ocean.  The  question,  or  perhaps  the 
way  it  was  asked,  sent  a  chill  through  Black  Dennis 
Nolan.  His  glance  wavered  and  he  crumpled  his 
fur  cap  in  his  hands.  His  sudden  confusion  showed 
in  his  dark  face. 

"  It  bes  the  skipper,"  said  Mary  Kavanagh, 
"  him  that  fetched  ye  from  the  wrack." 

"  Oh,  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Flora.  "  Of 
course  I  should  have  remembered  your  face,  and 
now  I  do.  I  am  very,  very  grateful  to  you  for 
saving  my  life,  and  I  shall  never  forget  it.  I  shall 
do  everything  in  my  power  to  repay  you  for  your 
courage  and  kindness,  you  may  be  sure;  but  why 
did  you  not  send  out  word  that  I  was  here?  You 
knew  that  I  could  not  do  it  myself,  lying  here  ill 
with  fever.  Perhaps  they  have  grown  tired  of 
waiting  for  me  by  now,  in  New  York.  Perhaps 
they  think  I  am  dead.  Perhaps  they  have  forgot- 
ten me  —  and  that  would  be  worse  than  death !  " 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        169 

The  skipper  felt  like  a  fool,  then  like  a  whipped 
dog.  It  was  this  last  sensation  that  sent  a  wave 
of  choking  anger  through  him.  He  was  not  ac- 
customed to  it.  Had  any  other  woman  taken  him 
to  task  so  he  would  have  laughed  and  forgotten 
the  incident  in  a  minute.  Had  any  man  shown  such 
ingratitude  he  would  have  smashed  his  head ;  but 
now  his  dark  face  flushed  and  he  muttered  a  few 
words  thickly  which  passed  unheard  and  unheeded 
even  by  himself. 

"  I  am  writing  now,"  continued  Flora,  "  and 
must  ask  you  to  send  it  out  to  some  place  from 
which  it  can  reach  civilization,  and  be  mailed  to 
New  York.  It  is  very  important  —  almost  a  mat- 
ter of  life  and  death  to  me  —  for  it  may  yet  be  in 
time  to  save  my  career,  even  my  engagement  in 
New  York." 

The  skipper  maintained  his  silence,  crushing  his 
cap  in  his  big  hands  and  glowering  at  the  rag-mat 
under  his  feet.  Two  kinds  of  love,  several  kinds 
of  devils,  pride,  anger  and  despair  were  battling 
in  his  heart. 

"  Ye'll  take  out  the  letter,  skipper,  sure  ye  will," 
said  Mary,  smiling  at  him  across  the  bed.  Her 
fair  face  was  pink  and  her  eyes  perturbed.  The 


170  The  Harbor  Master 

man  did  not  notice  the  pink  of  her  cheeks  or  the 
anxiety  in  her  eyes. 

"  Why,  of  course  you  will  take  it  —  or  send  it," 
said  Miss  Lockhart.  "  It  is  a  very  small  thing  to 
do  for  a  person  for  whom  you  have  already  done 
so  much.  You  are  the  kindest  people  in  the  world 
—  you  three.  You  have  saved  my  life  twice, 
among  you.  I  shall  never,  never  forget  your  kind- 
ness, and  as  soon  as  I  reach  New  York  I  shall 
repay  you  all.  I  shall  soon  be  rich." 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  looked  at  her,  straight  into 
her  sea-eyes,  and  felt  the  bitter-sweet  spell  of  them 
again  to  the  very  depths  of  his  being.  Her  glance 
was  the  first  to  waver.  A  veil  of  color  slipped  up 
softly  across  her  pale  cheeks.  Young  as  she  was, 
she  had  seen  other  men  gaze  at  her  with  that  same 
light  in  their  eyes.  They  had  all  been  young  men, 
she  reflected.  Others,  in  Paris  and  London,  had 
looked  with  less  of  pure  bewitchment  and  more  of 
desire  in  their  eyes.  She  was  not  ignorant  of  her 
charms,  her  power,  her  equipment  to  pluck  the 
pearl  from  the  oyster  of  the  world.  She  could 
marry  wealth ;  she  could  win  wealth  and  more  fame 
with  her  voice  and  beauty  on  the  concert-stage ;  she 
could  do  both.  But  in  spite  of  her  knowledge  of 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        171 

the  great  world,  her  heart  was  neither  blinded  to 
the  true  things  of  worth  nor  entirely  hardened.  If 
she  ever  married,  it  would  be  for  wealth  and  posi- 
tion, as  the  world  counted  such  things,  but  never 
a  man  —  lord  or  commoner  —  who  did  not  come  to 
her  with  the  light  of  pure  witchery  in  his  eyes.  She 
remembered,  smiling  down  at  the  half-written  let- 
ter to  her  New  York  agent,  how  that  light  had 
shone  in  the  honest  eyes  of  a  young  officer  of  the 
ship  in  which  she  had  sailed  from  America  to  Eu- 
rope. Her  reflections,  which  had  passed  through 
her  brain  with  a  swiftness  beyond  that  of  any 
spoken  or  written  words,  were  interrupted  by  the 
skipper. 

"  I  bes  rich  now,"  he  said  thickly. 

Mary  Kavanagh  lost  color  at  that  and  turned 
her  face  away  from  them  both,  toward  the  fire  in 
the  wide  chimney.  Flora  Lockhart  looked  up  at  the 
speaker,  puzzled,  but  still  smiling  faintly.  Her  face 
was  very  beautiful  and  kind  —  but  with  an  elfin 
kindness  that  seemed  not  all  womanly,  scarcely  all 
human.  Her  beauty  was  almost  too  delicate,  stri- 
king and  unusual  to  bear  the  impress  of  a  com- 
mon-day kindness.  She  laughed  gently  but 
clearly. 


172  The  Harbor  Master 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  rich,"  she  said.  "  You  are 
rich  in  virtues,  I  know  —  all  three  of  you." 

"  I  bes  rich  in  gold  an'  gear,"  said  the  skipper. 
"  Rich  as  any  marchant." 

"  I  am  glad,"  returned  the  girl.  "  It  will  be 
pleasant  for  me,  in  the  future,  to  always  picture 
my  preservers  in  comfort.  I  hope  you  may  con- 
tinue to  prosper,  skipper  —  you  and  all  your  people. 
But  here  is  the  letter.  How  will  you  get  it  to  New 
York,  do  you  think?  " 

The  skipper  advanced  to  the  bed,  and  took  the 
letter.  His  fingers  touched  hers. 

"I'll  be  takin'  it  to  Witless  Bay  meself,"  he 
stammered.  "  Sure,  that  would  be  safest.  It  bes 
a  longish  trip;  but  I'll  do  it."  He  paused  and 
stared  down  at  the  letter  in  his  hand.  "  But 
'twould  take  me  t'ree  days  an'  more,  there  an'  back 
—  an'  what  would  the  men  be  doing  wid  me  away? 
The  divil  himself  only  knows!  Maybe  they'd  get 
to  t'inkin'  agin  as  ye  bes  a  witch.  I'll  be  sendin' 
Bill  Brennen  wid  it,  afore  sun-up  to-morrow." 

"  And  who  will  take  it  from  Witless  Bay  to  St. 
John's  ?  "  asked  Flora. 

"  Foxey  Garge  Hudson,  the  Queen's  own  mail- 
carrier.  There  bes  a  post-office  in  Witless  Bay," 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        173 

returned  the  skipper.  "  He  makes  the  trip  to  St. 
John's  once  every  week  in  winter-time,  bar  flurries 
an'  fog,  an'  maybe  twice  every  week  in  the  summer- 
time. If  it  be'd  summer-time  now  I'd  sail  the 
letter  right  round  to  St.  John's  in  me  fore-an'-aft 
schooner." 

"  What  a  terrible  place !  It  seems  to  be  thou- 
sands of  miles  out  of  the  world,"  murmured  the 
singer.  "  Don't  any  ships  ever  come  to  this  har- 
bor —  except  wrecks  ?  " 

The  skipper  shook  his  head.  "  Me  own  fore- 
an'-aft,  the  Polly,  bes  the  only  vessel  trades  wid 
this  harbor,"  he  said.  He  stowed  the  letter  away 
in  his  pocket,  turned  and  strode  from  the  room 
and  out  of  the  house.  He  looked  calm  enough 
now,  but  the  battle  was  still  raging  within 
him. 

The  skipper  was  out  of  bed  next  morning  at  the 
first  peep  of  dawn.  He  dressed  for  a  long  journey, 
stuffed  his  pockets  with  food,  and  then  wakened 
his  grandmother. 

"  I  bes  goin'  meself  wid  this  letter,"  he  said. 
"  The  men  won't  be  tryin'  any  o'  their  tricks,  I 
bes  t'inkin'.  Dick  Lynch  bain't  fit  for  any  divil- 
ment  yet  awhile  an'  'tothers  be  busy  gettin'  tim- 


174  The  Harbor  Master 

ber  for  the  church.  Send  Cormy  to  tell  Bill  Bren- 
nen  an'  Nick  Leary  to  keep  'em  to  it." 

"Why  bes  ye  goin'  yerself,  Denny?"  inquired 
the  old  woman. 

"  Sure,  it  bes  safest  for  me  to  carry  the  letter, 
Granny,"  returned  the  skipper. 

He  ate  his  breakfast,  drank  three  mugs  of  strong 
tea,  and  set  out.  A  little  dry  snow  had  fallen  dur- 
ing the  night.  The  air  was  bitterly  cold  and  mo- 
tionless, and  the  only  sound  was  the  sharp  crackling 
of  the  tide  fingering  the  ice  along  the  frozen  land- 
wash.  The  sky  was  clear.  With  the  rising  of  the 
sun  above  the  rim  of  the  sea  a  faint  breath  of  icy 
wind  came  out  of  the  west.  By  this  time  the  skip- 
per was  up  on  the  edge  of  the  barrens,  a  mile  and 
more  away  from  the  little  harbor.  He  was  walking 
at  a  good  pace,  smoking  his  pipe  and  thinking  hard. 
A  thing  was  in  his  mind  that  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  face  fairly,  as  yet.  It  had  been  with 
him  several  hours  of  yesterday,  and  all  night,  and 
had  caused  him  to  change  his  plan  of  sending  Bill 
Brennen  with  the  letter  —  and  still  it  lurked  like  a 
shadow  in  the  back  of  his  mind,  unilluminated  and 
unproven.  But  he  knew,  deep  in  his  heart,  that 
he  would  presently  consider  and  act  upon  this  lurk- 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        175 

ing,  sinister  half-thought.  Otherwise,  he  was  a 
fool  to  be  heading  for  Witless  Bay.  Bill  Brennen, 
or  any  other  man  in  the  harbor,  could  have  carried 
the  letter  as  well  —  except  for  the  idea  that  had 
been  blindly  at  work  all  night  in  the  back  of  his 
brain. 

He  had  made  four  miles  of  his  journey  when  he 
halted,  turned  and  looked  back  along  the  desolate 
barrens  and  the  irregular  edge  of  the  cliffs.  Mis- 
givings assailed  him.  Was  Flora  safe?  What  if 
something  should  happen  —  had  already  happened, 
perhaps  —  to  stir  his  treacherous  fellows  to  mutiny 
again?  Any  little  accident  might  do  it  if  they  knew 
that  he  was  on  his  way  to  Witless  Bay.  If  one 
of  them  should  cut  his  foot  with  an  axe,  or  drop 
a  tree  on  one  of  his  comrades,  it  would  be  enough 
(with  the  skipper  out  of  the  way)  to  raise  the  sus- 
picion of  witchcraft  and  curses  in  their  silly,  mad 
souls  again.  And  then  what  would  happen  ?  What 
would  happen  to  Flora,  the  helpless,  wonderful, 
most  beautiful  creature  in  the  world.  He  stared 
back  along  his  path,  but  the  many  curves  and  breaks 
in  the  cliff  hid  from  him  every  sign  of  Chance 
Along.  Not  a  roof,  chimney,  or  streamer  of  smoke 
broke  the  desolation.  In  all  the  frozen  scene  he 


176  The  Harbor  Master 

could  find  no  mark  of  man  or  man's  handiwork. 
South  and  north,  east  and  west,  lay  the  frosted 
barrens,  the  gray  sea,  the  edge  of  the  cliff  twisting 
away  to  nothingness  around  innumerable  lifeless 
bays  and  coves,  and  the  far  horizons  fencing  all 
in  a  desolate  circle.  But  what  mattered  to  the  skip- 
per, what  weighed  on  his  heart  like  despair  was 
the  fact  that  he  was  out  of  sight  of  Chance  Along 
—  of  the  roof  that  sheltered  the  girl  he  had  saved 
from  the  wreck.  He  felt  the  loneliness  of  that 
dreary  season  and  coast  —  for  the  first  time  in  his 
life,  I  think.  Anxiety  was  his  teacher. 

And  now  he  knew  that  he  must  go  on  to  Witless 
Bay,  and  so  prove  himself  a  fool  for  not  having 
sent  one  of  the  men,  or  else  face  and  act  upon  the 
thought  lurking  in  the  back  of  his  mind.  He  drew 
the  letter  from  his  pocket  and  looked  at  it  for  a 
long  time,  turning  it  over  and  over  between  his 
fur-clad  hands. 

"  She'll  soon  be  forgettm',"  he  said.  "  Come 
summer-time,  she'll  be  forgettin'.  I  bes  rich  —  an* 
when  she  sees  the  grand  house  I  kin  build  for  her 
she'll  marry  me,  sure,  an'  be  happy  as  a  queen. 
An'  why  not?  Bain't  I  rich  as  any  marchant? 
She'll  be  wearin'  gold  an'  silk  every  day,  an'  eatin' 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter  ,      177 

like  any  queen  —  an'  hain't  that  better  for  a  grand 
lady  nor  singin'  songs  for  a  livin'  ?  —  nor  singin' 
songs  for  her  bread  an'  baccy  like  old  Pat  Kava- 
nagh  wid  the  wooden  leg?" 

He  tore  the  letter  to  fragments  and  scattered  it 
upon  the  snow.  He  had  faced  the  lurking  thought 
at  last  and  acted  upon  it. 

"  Praise  be  to  the  saints !  "  exclaimed  the  skipper 
with  intense  relief.  "  That  bes  done  —  an'  a  good 
job,  too.  That  letter'll  never  be  gettin'  to  up-along, 
anyhow,  an'  when  she  larns  how  rich  I  be,  an' 
begins  to  love  me,  she'll  be  praisin'  the  saints  the 
same  as  me.  Why  for  would  she  want  to  be  goin' 
up-along  to  New  York,  anyhow?  Now  I'll  jist 
shape  me  course  'round  beyant  the  harbor  an'  see 
if  they  squid  be  up  to  any  divilment  or  no." 

He  made  his  way  inland  for  about  half  a  mile 
and  then  headed  southward.  As  he  drew  near  the 
line  of  Chance  Along  he  edged  farther  away  from 
the  coast,  deeper  into  the  wilderness  of 'hummocks, 
frozen  bogs  and  narrow  belts  of  spruce  and  fir. 
When  at  last  he  heard  the  axes  thumping  between 
himself  and  the  harbor  he  sat  down  in  a  sheltered 
place  and  filled  and  lit  his  pipe.  The  men  were 
at  work.  The  letter  that  would  have  torn  Flora 


178  The  Harbor  Master 

Lockhart  from  him  was  not  on  its  way  to  New 
York.  All  was  well  with  the  skipper  and  the  world ! 
He  remained  there  for  an  hour,  smoking,  listening, 
congratulating  himself.  By  the  thumping  of  the 
axes  and  the  slow  crashings  of  falling  trees  he 
knew  that  Bill  Brennen  had  put  a  big  crew  at  the 
chopping.  This  knowledge  stilled  his  anxiety  for 
the  girl's  safety.  He  knocked  out  his  pipe  and 
stowed  it  away  and  moved  farther  westward  until 
he  found  a  suitable  camping-place  behind  a  wooded 
hill.  Here  he  made  a  fire,  built  a  little  shelter  of 
poles  and  spruce  branches,  and  rested  at  his  ease. 
He  thought  of  Flora  Lockhart.  Her  sea-eyes  and 
red  lips  were  as  clear  and  bright  as  a  picture  in  his 
brain.  Her  wonderful,  bell-like  voice  rang  in  his 
ears  like  fairy  music.  The  spell  of  her  was  like 
a  ravishing  fire  in  his  heart. 

Suddenly  the  skipper  sprang  to  his  feet  and 
slapped  a  hand  on  his  thigh.  He  had  remembered 
the  necklace  for  the  first  time  for  many  days,  and 
with  the  memory  had  flashed  the  thought  that  with 
it  to  offer  he  would  have  no  difficulty  in  proving  his 
wealth  to  the  lady  and  winning  her  heart.  Those 
white  diamonds  and  red  rubies  were  surely  just  the 
things  a  great  lady  from  up-along  would  appreciate. 


The  Skipper  Carries  a  Letter        179 

Could  a  king  on  his  throne  make  her  a  finer  gift? 
He  doubted  it.  The  sight  of  that  necklace  would 
open  her  eyes  and  melt  her  heart  to  the  real  worth 
and  greatness  of  the  skipper  of  Chance  Along. 
Poor  Skipper  Nolan!  But  after  all,  he  was  little 
more  than  a  savage.  Of  the  hearts  of  women  — 
even  of  the  women  of  Chance  Along  —  he  was  as 
ignorant  as  a  spotted  harbor-seal.  He  knew  no 
more  of  Mary  Kavanagh's  heart  than  of  Flora 
Lockhart's,  but  even  a  savage  may  win  a  heart  in 
ignorance,  and  even  a  savage  may  learn ! 

With  a  great  oath  the  skipper  vowed  that  he 
would  find  that  necklace;  but  not  to  sell  for  gold, 
as  his  old  intention  had  been,  but  to  sell  for  the 
possession  of  the  girl  from  up-along.  It  seemed 
an  easy  thing  to  do.  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  could  not 
have  gone  very  far  away  from  the  harbor  in  that 
"  flurry."  Perhaps  he  had  turned  back  and  inland, 
searching  blindly  for  shelter,  and  lay  even  now 
somewhere  near  this  fire?  It  struck  the  skipper  as 
a  great  idea.  He  would  have  three  clear  days  to 
give  to  the  quest  of  the  body  of  Jack  Quinn  with- 
out arousing  the  curiosity  of  the  harbor.  Three 
days,  as  nearly  as  he  could  reckon,  was  the  shortest 
time  in  which  a  man  could  make  the  journey  to 


180  The  Harbor  Master 

Witless  Bay  and  back.  As  he  could  not  show  him- 
self in  Chance  Along  within  that  time  without 
raising  doubts  as  to  the  safe  delivery  of  the  letter, 
he  was  free  to  devote  the  time  to  the  recovery  of 
the  necklace.  It  was  a  grand  arrangement  alto- 
gether. Of  course  he  would  keep  covertly  in  touch 
with  the  harbor,  in  case  of  another  panic  of  super- 
stition; and  of  course  he  would  find  the  corpse  of 
Jack  Quinn  with  the  precious  necklace  in  its  pocket. 


DICK    LYNCH    GOES    ON    THE   WAR  -  PATH 

BLACK  DENNIS  NOLAN'S  explorations  in  the  wil- 
derness in  search  of  the  corpse  of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn 
served  no  purpose  save  that  of  occupying  his  three 
days  of  exile  from  Chance  Along.  Of  course  he 
acquired  a  deal  of  exact  information  of  the  country 
lying  beyond  the  little  harbor  and  north  and  south 
of  it  for  several  miles;  but  this  knowledge  of  the 
minute  details  of  the  landscape  did  not  seem  of 
much  value  to  him,  at  the  time.  He  searched  high 
and  low,  far  and  wide,  returning  at  intervals  of 
from  three  to  five  hours  to  within  sound  of  the  axes 
of  his  men.  He  dug  the  dry  snow  from  clefts 
between  granite  boulders  and  ransacked  the  tangled 
hearts  of  thickets  of  spruce-tuck  and  alder.  He 
investigated  frozen  swamps,  wooded  slopes,  rocky 
knolls  and  hummocks,  and  gazed  down  through 
black  ice  at  the  brown  waters  of  frozen  ponds.  He 
carried  on  his  search  scientifically,  taking  his  camp 

181 


182  The  Harbor  Master 

as  a  point  of  departure  and  moving  away  from  it 
in  ever  widening  and  lengthening  curves.  He 
found  the  shed  antlers  of  a  stag,  the  barrel  of  an 
old,  long-lost  sealing  gun,  the  skeleton  of  a  caribou, 
and  the  bones  of  a  fox  with  one  shank  still  gripped 
in  the  jaws  of  a  rusty  trap.  He  found  a  large  dry 
cave  in  the  side  of  a  knoll.  He  found  the  charred 
butts  of  an  old  camp-fire  and  near  it  that  which 
had  once  been  a  plug  of  tobacco  —  a  brown,  rotten 
mass,  smelling  of  dead  leaves  and  wet  rags.  He 
found  a  rusted  fish-hook,  so '  thorough  was  his 
search  —  aye,  and  a  horn  button.  In  such  signs 
he  read  the  fleeting  history  of  the  passing  of  gen- 
erations of  men  that  way  —  of  men  from  Chance 
Along  who  had  sought  in  this  wilderness  for  flesh 
for  their  pots  and  timber  for  their  huts,  boats  and 
stages.  He  found  everything  but  what  he  was  look- 
ing for  —  the  frozen  body  of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn 
with  the  necklace  of  diamonds  and  rubies  in  its 
pocket.  Then  a  haunting  fear  came  to  him  that 
the  thief  had  escaped  —  had  won  out  to  the  big 
world  in  spite  of  the  storm  and  by  some  other 
course  than  Witless  Bay. 

With  this  fear  in  him,  he  carried  on  terribly  for 
a  few  minutes,  raging  around  his  fire,  cursing  the 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path    183 

name  and  the  soul  of  Foxey  Jack  Quinn,  calling 
upon  the  saints  for  justice,  confounding  his  luck 
and  his  enemies.  He  stopped  it  suddenly,  for  he 
had  a  way  of  regaining  command  of  his  threshing 
passions  all  at  once.  He  did  not  have  to  let  them 
thresh  themselves  out,  as  is  the  case  with  weaker 
men;  but  he  gripped  them,  full-blooded,  to  quiet, 
by  sheer  will  power  and  a  turn  of  thought.  The 
force  of  mastery  was  strong  in  Black  Dennis 
Nolan's  wild  nature.  When  he  wished  it  he  could 
master  himself  as  well  as  others.  Now  he  sat  down 
quietly  beside  his  fire  and  lit  his  pipe.  The  evening 
was  near  at  hand  —  the  evening  of  the  third  and 
last  day  of  his  exile.  The  sun,  like  a  small  round 
window  of  red  glass,  hung  low  above  the  black 
hills  to  the  north  and  west.  He  got  to  his  feet, 
threw  snow  on  the  breaking  fire  and  scattered  the 
steaming  coals  with  his  foot.  Then  he  pulled  down 
his  shelter  and  threw  the  poles  and  spruce  branches 
into  a  thicket,  so  that  no  marks  of  his  encampment 
were  left  except  the  wet  coals  and  smudged  ashes 
of  the  fire. 

The  crimson  sun  slid  down  out  of  sight  behind 
the  black  hills  to  the  west  and  north,  and  the  gray 
twilight  thickened  over  the  wilderness. ,  The  last 


184  The  Harbor  Master 

red  tint  had  faded  from  the  west  and  the  windows 
of  the  cabins  were  glowing  when  the  skipper 
reached  the  top  of  the  path  leading  down  to  Chance 
Along.  A  dog  barked  —  Pat  Kavanagh's  black 
crackie  —  and  the  whisper  of  the  tide  fumbling  at 
edges  of  ice  came  up  from  the  land-wash  below  the 
fish-house  and  drying-stages.  He  saw  the  spars  of 
his  little  schooner  etched  black  against  the  slate- 
gray  of  the  eastern  sky.  He  stood  at  the  edge  of 
the  broken  slope,  looking  and  listening.  Presently 
he  heard  a  mutter  of  voices  and  saw  two  dark  fig- 
ures ascending  the  path. 

"  Good  evenin',  men,"  he  said. 

The  two  halted.  "  Glory  be ! "  exclaimed  the 
voice  of  Bill  Brennen.  "  The  skipper  himself,  sure, 
praise  the  saints!  Bes  it  yerself,  skipper,  an'  no 
mistake?" 

"  Aye,  Bill,  an'  why  for  not  ?  "  returned  Nolan. 
"  Didn't  ye  t'ink  as  I  could  make  the  trip  to  Wit- 
less Bay  an'  back  in  free  days?  Bes  that  yerself, 
NickLeary?" 

"  Aye,  skipper,  aye,"  replied  Nick.  The  two 
were  now  at  the  top  of  the  path,  staring  anxiously 
at  the  skipper  through  the  gloom.  Leary's  head 
was  still  in  a  bandage. 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path     185 

"  We  was  jist  a-settin'  out  to  look  for  ye,  skip- 
per," said  Bill. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  laughed  at  that.  "  Was  ye 
t'inkin'  I  couldn't  find  me  way  back  to  me  own 
harbor,  in  fair  weather?"  he  asked. 

"  Aye,  skipper,  sure  ye  could,"  said  Bill  Bren- 
nen ;  "  but  it  bes  like  this  wid  us.  Dick  Lynch 
give  us  the  slip  this  very  day,  wid  a  bottle  o'  rum 
in  his  belly  an'  the  smoke  of  it  in  his  head,  an'  a 
gun  in  his  hand.  Aye,  skipper,  an'  we  didn't  larn 
it  till  only  a  minute  ago  from  little  Patsy  Burke." 

"  Aye,  that  bes  the  right  o'  it,"  broke  in  Nick 
Leary.  "  We  heard  tell  o'  Dick  Lynch  a-slippin' 
away  to  the  south'ard  jist  this  minute  from  little 
Patsy  Burke.  Drunk  as  a  bo's'un  he  was,  wid  his 
old  swilin'-gun  on  his  shoulder  an'  the  divil's  own 
flare  in  the  eyes  o'  him.  So  we  hauled  out  too, 
skipper,  intendin'  to  catch  him  afore  he  come  up 
wid  yerself  if  the  saints  would  give  us  the 
luck." 

"  Sure,  then,  I  didn't  catch  a  sight  o'  the  treach- 
erous squid,"  said  the  skipper.  '  Ye  see,  b'ys,  I 
took  a  swing  off  to  the  westward  to-day  to  spy  out 
some  timber.  But  what  would  Dick  Lynch  be 
huntin'  me  wid  his  swilin'-gun  for?  Why  for  d'ye 


186  The  Harbor  Master 

say  he  was  huntin'  me?  Didn't  I  put  the  comather 
on  to  him  last  time  ?  The  divil's  own  courage  must 
be  in  him  if  he  bes  out  huntin'  for  me." 

"  He  was  tryin'  all  he  knowed  how  to  raise 
trouble  yesterday,"  said  Bill ;  "  but  the  b'ys  wasn't 
wid  him.  This  very  mornin',  when  I  called  in  to 
see  how  he  was  feelin'  for  work,  there  he  laid  in 
his  bed  wid  the  covers  drug  up  over  his  ugly  face, 
a-moanin'  an'  groanin'  as  how  he  wasn't  fit  to  hit 
a  clip.  Then  we  all  o'  us  goes  off  to  the  choppin', 
to  cut  timber  for  his  riverence's  blessed  little  church, 
an'  mugs-up  in  the  woods  widout  comin'  home, 
an'  when  we  gets  back  to  the  harbor,  maybe  a  few 
minutes  afore  sundown,  little  Patsy  Burke  gives  us 
the  word  as  how  Dick  Lynch  went  off  wid  a  gun, 
swearin'  by  the  whole  assembly  of  heaven  as  how 
he'd  be  blowin'  yer  heart  out  o'  ye  the  minute  he 
clapped  eye  on  ye.  An'  then,  skipper  dear,  Pat  Kav- 
anagh's  girl  Mary  comes  a-runnin'  wid  word  as 
how  Dick  Lynch  t'iefed  a  bottle  o'  rum  from  Pat 
himself  and  was  brow-sprit  under  wid  the  glory 
of  it  an'  fit  to  take  a  shot  —  except  for  the  aim  of 
him  —  at  Saint  Peter  himself.  She  telled  as  how 
he'd  shaped  his  course  to  the  south'ard,  with  his 
gun  on  his  shoulder,  swearin'  he'd  blow  the  head 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path     187 

off  ye  or  never  come  home  to  Chance  Along  no 
more.  So  Nick  an'  me  puts  two  an'  two  forninst 
each  other  an'  figgered  as  how  Dick  would  have 
ye  if  somethin'  didn't  happen  to  t'row  out  his 
plans." 

"  Ye  hain't  got  the  right  o'  it  there,  Bill,"  said 
Nick.  "  Twas  Mary  telled  us  to  follow  after  Dick 
Lynch.  She'd  gone  herself,  she  said,  but  she'd 
heard  o'  it  no  more'n  a  minute  ago  from  Pat,  her 
bein'  over  to  the  skipper's  house  an'  tryin'  to  cheer 
up  the  lady  what  come  off  the  wrack !  '  Save  the 
skipper/  says  Mary,  the  eyes  o'  her  like  lumps  o' 
ice  on  the  coast  in  June.  '  Save  him  from  the  drunk 
dog  wid  the  gun,  even  if  it  bes  the  death  o'  yer- 
selves.'  Aye,  that  bes  what  Mary  Kavanagh  said 
to  us  —  an'  here  we  bes,  skipper." 

"  Mary  bes  a  good  girl,"  said  the  skipper.  Then 
he  laughed  harshly  and  slapped  Bill  Brennen  on  the 
back. 

"  Me  brains  bes  still  in  me  head  an'  me  hands 
on  the  ends  o'  me  two  arms,"  he  exclaimed ;  "  but 
what  bes  happenin'  to  Dick  Lynch,  I  wonder?  If 
ever  he  comes  back  —  but  he'll  not  dare !  Aye,  ye 
kin  lay  to  that.  He'd  as  soon  jump  into  hell  wid 
the  divil  as  come  back  now  to  Chance  Along. 


188  The  Harbor  Master 

Maybe  he'll  be  losin'  himself  like  Foxey  Jack  Quinn 
went  an'  done  wid  himself.  Aye,  lads,  fools  kin 
tell  as  how  me  luck  bes  gone  —  but  the  saints  them- 
selves bes  wid  me,  drivin'  me  enemies  out  o'  Chance 
Along  widout  me  so  much  as  havin'  to  kill  one  o' 
them!" 

"  Sure,  skipper,  it  looks  that  way,  an'  no  mis- 
take," said  Bill  Brennen.  "  The  saints  be  wid  ye 
for  the  kind  heart  ye  has  for  helpless  women  an' 
childer,  an'  for  yer  love  o'  Father  McQueen,  an' 
for  the  work  ye  bes  at  to  build  the  little  church; 
but  most  of  all,  skipper,  for  the  kind  heart  o'  ye 
to  every  helpless  woman  an'  child." 

A  scowl,  or  was  it  a  shadow,  crossed  Black  Den- 
nis Nolan's  face  at  that. 

"  Sure,  a  kind  heart  bes  a  grand  t'ing,"  he  said, 
—  "  and  so  bes  sharp  wits  an'  hard  hands !  " 

They  turned  and  went  down  the  path.  Mother 
Nolan  met  the  skipper  just  inside  the  door,  with 
the  big  wooden  spoon  from  the  stew-pot  dripping 
in  her  hand.  Her  black  eyes  looked  blacker  and 
keener  than  usual  as  they  met  those  of  her  grand- 
son. 

"  So  here  ye  be,  safe  back  from  Witless  Bay," 
she  said.  "  Ye  didn't  waste  a  minute,  Denny." 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path     189 

"  Sure  I  didn't,"  returned  the  skipper,  quickly. 
"  It  beed  fair  weather  an'  fair  goin'  all  the  way 
an'  one  little  letter  hain't  much  o'  a  pack  to  tote. 
How  be  ye  all,  Granny?  How  bes  the  lass  from 
the  wrack  ?  " 

"  Grand  altogether,"  said  the  old  woman,  return- 
ing to  the  stove  and  the  pot  of  stew. 

"  Aye,"  said  young  Cormick,  "  she  was  singin' 
to-day  fit  to  drag  the  heart  o'  ye  out  t'rough  yer 
ears.  Sure,  Denny,  if  ye  heard  a  fairy  singin' 
'twould  sound  no  grander !  " 

"  Aye,  like  a  fairy,"  agreed  the  old  woman,  wag- 
ging her  head.  "  I  bain't  wonderin'  a  mite  at  how 
she  brought  the  salt  tears  a-hoppin'  out  o'  the  eyes 
o'  the  blessed  Queen  herself!  An'  she  was  that 
happy,  Denny,  a-t'inkin'  o'  how  her  letter  to  up- 
along  was  safe  an'  sure  on  its  way,  that  didn't  she 
have  Pat  Kavanagh  down  wid  his  fiddle,  an'  atween 
the  two  o'  'em  they  made  the  finest  music  was  ever 
heard  on  this  coast.  Her  heart  bes  fair  set  on  up- 
along,  Denny,  an'  on  what  she  calls  her  career, 
meanin'  songs  an'  glory  an'  money  an'  her  name 
on  the  lips  o'  men." 

The  skipper  was  silent  for  a  moment  after  that, 
staring  at  the  floor.  He  raised  his  eyes  to  the  old 


190  The  Harbor  Master 

woman  and  found  that  she  was  gazing  at  him 
fixedly. 

"  Sure,  an'  why  for  not?  "  he  said.  "  An'  what 
bes  she  doin'  now?  " 

"  Sleepin',"  replied  Mother  Nolan.  "  Sleepin' 
an'  dreamin'  o'  up-along  an'  all  her  grand 
friends." 

A  scowl  darkened  the  skipper's  eyes  and  brow, 
but  he  had  no  remark  to  make  on  the  matter  of  the 
lady's  dreams.  He  threw  aside  his  outer  coat,  ate 
his  supper,  smoked  his  pipe,  and  at  last  retired  to 
his  bed.  In  the  meantime,  Nick  Leary  had  taken 
word  to  Pat  and  Mary  Kavanagh  that  the  skipper 
was  home  in  Chance  Along,  safe  and  sound,  having 
missed  Dick  Lynch  by  shaping  his  course  westward 
to  spy  out  timber.  Mary's  face  brightened  at  the 
news.  Pat  glanced  at  her,  then  nodded  his  tangled 
head  toward  Leary. 

"  The  skipper  bes  still  alive  an'  the  letter  bes 
gone  on  its  way,"  he  said.  "  So,  come  spring,  they 
be  takin'  that  singin'  lady  wid  the  eyes  o'  magic 
away  from  Chance  Along.  Maybe  they'll  be  comin' 
for  her  widout  waitin'  for  spring?  She  bes  a  won- 
der at  the  singin',  an'  no  mistake  —  the  best  I  ever 
hear  in  all  me  v'yages  into  foreign  ports.  An'  the 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path     191 

looks  o'  her!  Holy  saints,  they  hain't  scarce 
human !  " 

Nick  Leary  grinned  through  his  bandage. 

"  Aye,  Pat,  ye've  got  the  discarnin'  eye  in  yer 
head  —  ye  an'  the  skipper,"  he  said.  "However 
the  skipper  kep'  himself  away  -from  Chance  Along 
for  t'ree  entire  days,  wid  herself  a-singin'  an' 
a-flashin'  her  eyes  right  in  his  own  house,  bes  a 
puzzle  to  me.  Aye,  sure  it  do,  for  didn't  I  see  her 
put  the  spell  o'  women  on  to  him  the  very  first  min- 
ute she  opened  her  eyes  at  him  on  the  fore-top  o' 
the  wrack." 

"  Leave  the  skipper  be,  Nick  Leary,"  said  Mary. 
"  Never  half  a  word  would  ye  be  sayin'  if  he  could 
hear  ye.  Leave  him  an'  his  business  be.  He  bes 
a  good  friend  to  ye  —  aye,  an'  to  every  soul  in  the 
harbor  who  don't  cross  him." 

"  Sure,  Mary,  I  bain't  meanin'  naught,"  re- 
turned Nick.  "  Sure  he  bes  a  good  friend  to 
me!" 

Pat  Kavanagh  smiled  and  took  up  his  fiddle  and 
his  bow.  His  hands  were  still  for  a  minute,  and 
then  the  instrument  began  to  sigh  and  trill.  The 
sounds  gathered  in  strength,  soared  high,  then 
thinned  and  sank  to  no  more  than  the  whisper  of 


192  The  Harbor  Master 

a  tune  —  and  then  Pat  began  to  sing.    This  is  part 
of  what  he  sang :  — 

"  Come  all  ye  hardy  fishermen 

An'  harken  to  me  song, 
O'  how  the  mermaid  from  the  wrack 
Come  ashore  in  Chance  Along. 

"  Her  eyes  was  like  the  sea  in  June, 

Her  lips  was  like  a  rose, 
Her  voice  was  like  a  fairy  bell 
A-ringin'  crost  the  snows. 

"  The  Skipper  he  forgot  the  wrack, 

Forgot  the  waves  a-rollin', 
For  she  had  put  the  witchy  spell 
On  Skipper  Dennis  Nolan. 


"  Come  all  ye  hardy  fishermen 
An'  larn  from  this  me  song, 
To  turn  yer  eyes  the  other  way 
To  the  girls  from  up-along." 

"  Yer  songs  get  more  foolish  every  day,  father 
dear,"  said  Mary. 

"  Sure,  Pat,  Mary  bes  right,"  said  Leary.  "  Ye 
sings  as  if  the  girls  in  Chance  Along  hadn't  so  much 


Dick  Lynch  Goes  On  the  War-path     193 

as  one  eye  in  the  heads  o'  the  entire  crew  o'  them. 
Now  I  bes  t'inkin'  as  how  there  bes  a  girl  in  this 

harbor  wid  eyes  an'  lips " 

"  Sure,   Nick,  yer  thoughts  bes  no  better  nor 
father's  songs,"  interrupted  Mary. 


CHAPTER    XIII 

BILL   BRENNEN    PREACHES    LOYALTY 

BLACK  DENNIS  NOLAN  was  permitted  an  inter- 
view with  Miss  Flora  Lockhart  in  the  afternoon 
following  his  return  to  Chance  Along.  The  singer 
was  sitting  up  in  a  chair  by  the  fire,  wrapped  about 
in  her  own  silk  dressing-gown,  which  had  been 
brought  ashore  from  the  wreck,  and  in  an  eider- 
down quilt.  Her  plentiful,  soft,  brown  hair  was 
arranged  in  a  manner  new  to  Chance  Along,  and 
stuck  through  with  a  wonderful  comb  of  amber 
shell  and  gold,  and  a  pin  with  a  jewelled  hilt.  The 
ornaments  for  the  hair  had  been  supplied  by  Mother 
Nolan,  who  had  possessed  them  for  the  past  thirty 
years,  hidden  away  in  the  bottom  of  a  nunney-bag. 
Her  own  son,  the  late  skipper,  had  salvaged  them 
from  a  wreck.  Flora  had  her  own  rings  on  her 
tapering  fingers.  There  was  color  in  her  flawless 
cheeks,  her  wonderful  eyes  were  bright  and  clear, 
and  her  lips  were  red.  She  smiled  at  the  skipper 
when  Mother  Nolan  ushered  him  into  the  room. 

194 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       195 

"  It  was  very,  very  kind  of  you  to  take  my  letter 
all  the  way  to  the  post-office  with  your  own  hand," 
she  said.  Her  bell-like  voice  was  generous  and  sin- 
cere. "  I  wish  I  could  reward  you  for  all  you  have 
done  for  me,  Mr.  Nolan.  But  how  can  I  —  except 
in  my  heart?  You  are  so  rich  and  proud,  I  am 
afraid  to  offer  you  money."  Here  there  was  a  play- 
ful note  in  her  voice  which  the  skipper  detected. 
So  she  was  making  fun  of  his  wealth  and  his  pride. 
His  dark  face  flushed  with  several  disturbing  emo- 
tions. To  be  addressed  by  the  title  of  "  mister  " 
added  to  his  discomfort.  There  were  no  misters 
in  Chance  Along  —  or  anywhere  on  the  coast,  ex- 
cept the  Methodist  preacher  in  Bay  Bulls,  away  to 
the  north.  He  was  skipper  —  or  just  Denny  Nolan. 
He  was  skipper  of  Chance  Along  —  not  a  preacher 
and  not  the  mate  of  a  foreign-going  ship. 

"  Sure,  it  bain't  no  great  trip  to  Witless  Bay 
an'  back  agin,"  he  mumbled,  staring  at  the  girl 
in  the  big  chair.  The  light  that  entered  the  room 
from  the  gray  afternoon,  by  way  of  the  small  win- 
dow, was  more  of  a  shadow  than  an  illumination. 
The  red  fire  in  the  wide  chimney  warmed  a  little 
of  it,  painted  the  low  ceiling  and  touched  the  girl's 
eyes  with  a  sunset  tint.  The  skipper  shuffled  his 


196  The  Harbor  Master 

feet  on  a  rag  mat  and  crumpled  his  cap  between 
his  big  hands.  He  felt  like  a  slave  —  aye,  and 
something  of  a  rogue  —  here  in  his  own  house.  But 
he  tried  to  brace  himself  with  the  thought  tkat  he 
was  master  of  the  situation. 

"  Please  sit  down  and  talk  to  me,  Mr.  Nolan," 
said  Flora. 

The  skipper  glanced  around  the  room.  Mother 
Nolan  had  gone,  leaving  the  door  ajar  behind  her. 
A  small  wooden  stool  stood  near  the  fire,  directly 
across  it  from  Flora.  The  skipper  advanced  to  the 
stool  and  sat  down,  the  thumping  of  his  heart 
sounding  in  his  ears  like  the  strokes  of  a  sledge- 
hammer on  wood.  For  a  moment  the  sight  of  his 
strong  eyes  was  veiled  by  a  mist  —  by  an  inner 
mist  smoking  up  from  the  heat  and  commotion  of 
his  blood.  When  his  sight  cleared  he  saw  the  beau- 
tiful young  woman  regarding  him  with  a  slight 
smile  on  her  red  lips  and  in  her  wonderful  eyes. 
There  was  inquiry  in  the  smile  —  yes,  and  pity  and 
amusement  were  in  it,  too.  The  young  man  felt 
short  of  breath  and  at  the  same  time  a  choking 
sensation  as  of  uncomfortable  fulness  of  the  lungs. 
He  stared  across  at  her  like  one  spellbound.  The 
girl's  glance  wavered,  but  her  smile  deepened.  A 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       197 

brief  note  of  laughter,  like  a  chime  of  glass  bells, 
parted  her  lips. 

"  Dear  me,  you  look  very  tragic,"  she  said. 
"  You  look  as  if  you  saw  a  ghost." 

The  skipper  started  violently  and  turned  his  face 
to  the  fire.  He  laughed  huskily,  then  got  to  his 
feet  and  looked  down  at  her  with  the  firelight  red 
as  blood  in  his  black  eyes.  Suddenly  he  groaned, 
stooped  and  snatched  up  one  of  her  white,  bejew- 
elled hands.  He  pressed  it  passionately  to  his  lips, 
crushing  the  delicate  fingers  with  his.  For  a  sec- 
ond or  two  the  singer  was  far  too  amazed  and 
horrified  to  speak  or  act;  then,  recovering  sud- 
denly, she  wrenched  her  hand  free  and  struck  him 
on  the  cheek.  He  flung  his  head  back  and  stood 
straight.  A  short,  thin,  red  line  showed  beneath 
his  right  eye  where  a  diamond  in  one  of  her  rings 
had  scratched  the  skin. 

"  How  dare  you?  "  she  cried,  her  voice  trembling 
and  her  face  colorless.  "  Go  away !  You  forget  — 
who  I  am !  You  are  a  coward !  " 

The  skipper  did  not  flinch,  his  eyes  did  not  waver. 
She  was  but  a  woman,  after  all,  for  all  her  talk 
of  queens  and  fame.  He  had  kissed  her  hand  — 
and  she  had  struck  him.  Well?  He  was  rich.  He 


198  The  Harbor  Master 

would  marry  her  —  and  she  would  soon  learn  to 
love  him.  He  looked  down  at  her  with  a  smile 
on  his  lips  and  the  light  of  mastery  in  his  black 
eyes. 

"  Go  away  —  you  coward !  "  she  cried.  Then 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  began  to  sob. 
Tears  glinted  between  her  fingers,  beside  the  dia- 
monds. At  that  moment  Mother  Nolan  entered 
and  clutched  her  grandson  by  the  elbow. 

"  Get  out  wid  ye,  ye  great  hulkin'  fool !  "  she 
exclaimed.  "  Oh,  I  seed  ye  a-clawin'  at  her  little 
hand.  An'  now  ye've  set  her  to  weepin',  ye  great 
lump!  Bain't  there  a  drop  o'  wits  in  yer 
head?  Don't  ye  know  yer  place,  Denny  Nolan, 
ye  ignorant  fisherman,  a-pawin'  at  the  likes  o' 
her?" 

The  skipper  felt  shame  at  sight  of  Flora's  tears 
and  anger  at  his  grandmother's  humiliating  words. 
There  was  a  bitter  edge  to  her  voice  that  was  new 
to  him,  and  her  lean  old  fingers  pinched  into  his 
flesh  like  fingers  of  iron. 

"  Sure,  I  bes  mad,"  he  said.  "  'Twas  only  a 
trick,  anyhow  —  an'  I  did  no  harm.  There  bain't 
naught  for  ye  to  be  cryin'  about." 

He  strode  from  the  room,  with  old  Mother  Nolan 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       199 

still  clinging  to  his  elbow.  When  they  reached  the 
kitchen  she  loosed  her  clutch  on  his  elbow. 

"  Denny  Nolan,  ye  bes  a  fool !  "  she  exclaimed. 
"  Saints  presarve  us,  Denny,  what  would  ye  be 
doin'  wid  a  sprite  the  like  o'  her,  wid  a  heart  all 
full  entirely  o'  gold  an'  diamonds  an'  queens  an' 
kings  ?  —  an'  girls  in  this  very  harbor,  ye  great 
ninney,  wid  red  woman  hearts  in  their  breasts !  " 

The  skipper  stared  at  her  for  a  second,  mut- 
tered an  oath,  crushed  his  fur  cap  on  his  head  and 
went  out  into  the  gray  twilight,  slamming  the  door 
behind  him.  He  blundered  his  way  up  the  path 
at  the  back  of  the  harbor  and  held  on,  blindly,  to 
the  westward. 

"  Sure,  now  she'll  be  frighted  o'  me  all  the  time," 
he  muttered.  "  I  was  a  fool  to  fright  her  so ! 
Maybe  now  she'll  never  be  marryin'  wid  me  at  all. 
The  divil  was  into  me!  Aye,  the  divil  himself!  " 

He  came  presently  to  a  group  of  his  men  working 
in  a  belt  of  timber,  and  this  encounter  brought  him 
back  to  affairs  of  the  common  day.  Grabbing  an 
axe  from  young  Peter  Leary,  he  set  to  with  a  fury 
of  effort  and  unheeding  skill  that  brought  the  slim 
spruces  flapping  to  earth.  Men  had  to  jump  to 
save  themselves  from  being  crushed.  The  white 


200  The  Harbor  Master 

chips  flew  in  the  gray  twilight;  and  Bill  Brennen 
wondered  what  imp's  claw  had  marked  the  skipper 
under  the  eyes  and  crisscrossed  his  temper. 

The  weather  continued  cold,  cloudless  and  wind- 
less throughout  the  next  three  days.  During  that 
time  the  skipper  made  no  effort  to  see  Flora,  but 
was  abroad  from  sun-up  to  sun-down  with  the  men, 
cutting  out  timber  for  the  little  church  as  if  his 
life  depended  on  it.  No  sight  or  sound  of  Dick 
Lynch  came  back  to  the  harbor.  This  gave  Bill 
Brennen  an  argument  in  favor  of  loyalty  to  the 
skipper.  He  preached  it  to  the  men,  and  it  made 
a  great  impression  on  their  simple  though  danger- 
ous natures. 

"  There  was  Foxey  Jack  Quinn,"  he  said.  "  Jack 
hated  the  skipper  like  we  hates  sea-water  in  our 
rum.  Didn't  he  try  to  kill  him  —  t'row  him  over 
the  cliff  —  an'  didn't  the  skipper  put  the  comather 
on  to  him?  An'  then  he  ups  and  busts  into  the 
skipper's  house,  wid  the  intention  o'  t'iefing  the 
money  —  an*  where  bes  Foxey  Jack  Quinn  this 
minute  ?  The  saints  only  knows !  —  or  maybe  the 
divil  could  tell  ye!  An'  there  was  Dick  Lynch. 
Dick  ups  an*  crosses  the  skipper  in  the  store,  an' 
gets  his  head  broke.  Nex',  he  raises  a  mutiny  agin 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       201 

the  skipper  an'  slips  his  knife  into  a  mate.  Nex', 
he  fills  himself  up  wid  rum  an'  sets  out  wid  his 
swilin'-gun  to  blow  the  skipper's  head  away!  An' 
where  bes  Dick  Lynch  this  minute?  Aye,  where 
bes  he !  Tell  me  that,  if  ye  kin  —  I  don't  know, 
an'  ye  don't  know,  an'  the  skipper  himself  don't 
know.  But  the  saints  knows !  —  or  maybe  it  bes 
the  divil  himself  could  tell  ye!  Anyhow,  all  the 
luck  o'  this  harbor  bes  wid  the  skipper  an'  wid 
them  as  stands  true  wid  him.  Aye,  ye  kin  lay  to 
that!  His  enemies  blink  out  like  a  spark  floatin' 
up  in  the  air.  B'ys,  stick  wid  the  skipper!  He 
feeds  ye  like  marchants.  Already  every  man  o'  ye 
has  more  gold  stored  away  nor  ye  ever  see  afore 
in  all  yer  life,  an'  come  spring  the  skipper'll  be 
freightin'  yer  jewels,  an*  the  cargo  out  o!  the  last 
wrack,  north  to  St.  John's,  an'  sellin'  'em  for  ye. 
Would  ye  have  salved  'em  widout  the  skipper  ?  No. 
Would  ye  be  able  for  to  freight  'em  to  St.  John's 
widout  himself  an'  his  f ore-an'-af ter  ?  No.  An' 
neither  would  ye  be  able  to  sell  'em  even  if  ye  could 
freight  'em!  Stand  true  to  Black  Dennis  Nolan, 
b'ys,  an'  ye'll  all  be  fat  an'  rich  as  marchants,  wid 
never  the  need  to  wet  a  line  at  the  fishin'." 

Dick  Lynch  had  gone  away  drunk;   but  not  so 


202  The  Harbor  Master 

drunk  as  to  have  forgotten  to  take  food  and  a 
blanket  with  him,  and  to  stow  away  on  his  person 
his  share  of  the  gold  from  the  Durham  Castle. 
His  inflamed  mind  must  have  held  a  doubt  as  to 
the  certainty  of  meeting  and  disposing  of  the  skip- 
per. 

After  the  long  spell  of  fine  weather  another 
"  flurry "  swirled  out  of  the  west,  and  sent  the 
men  of  Chance  Along  into  their  cabins,  to  eat  and 
drink  and  spin  yarns  and  keep  the  fires  roaring  in 
the  little,  round  stoves  and  blackened  chimneys. 
Throughout  the  first  day  of  storm  the  skipper  sat 
by  the  stove  in  his  kitchen,  talking  pleasantly  enough 
to  Mother  Nolan  and  Cormick,  figuring  on  the 
plans  for  the  church  which  Father  McQueen  had 
left  with  him,  but  with  never  a  question  about  Flora 
Lockhart.  He  was  something  of  a  dissembler,  was 
the  skipper  —  when  his  blood  was  cool.  Mother 
Nolan  spoke  once  of  the  girl,  saying  that  the  lone- 
liness of  Chance  Along  was  eating  her  poor  heart; 
but  the  skipper  gave  no  heed  to  it.  On  the  morn- 
ing of  the  second  day  of  the  storm,  after  Mother 
Nolan  had  carried  tea,  bacon  and  toast  to  the  singer 
and  was  eating  her  own  breakfast  with  her  grand- 
sons, the  inner  door  opened  and  Flora  herself  en- 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       203 

tered  the  kitchen.  The  three  looked  up  at  her  in 
amazement.  The  skipper  was  the  first  to  lower  his 
eyes. 

"  Good  mornin'  to  ye,"  he  said,  and  went  on 
with  his  breakfast. 

"  Oh,  I  am  so  dull  and  lonely,"  exclaimed  the 
girl.  "  This  terrible  storm  frightens  me.  Why 
must  I  stay  in  that  dreary  room  all  by  my- 
self?" 

"  Ye  be  welcome  to  the  entire  house,  ye  poor 
dear,"  said  Mother  Nolan.  "  But  has  ye  et  yer 
breakfast?" 

"  Not  yet.  The  storm  howled  so  in  the  chimney 
that  I  was  too  frightened  to  eat.  Mayn't  I  bring 
it  out  here  and  eat  it  with  you  —  and  listen  to  you 
talking?  "  begged  Flora. 

"  Sure  ye  kin.  Set  right  down  an'  I'll  fetch  yer 
tray,"  said  Mother  Nolan. 

"  Aye,  that  ye  kin  —  an'  welcome  ye  be  as  June," 
said  the  skipper  quietly. 

The  singer  glanced  at  him  shyly,  uncertainly, 
with  a  question  in  her  beautiful  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  kind  —  you  are  all  very  kind," 
she  said.  "  I  fear  that  I  was  very  —  rude  to  you, 
Mr.  Nolan.  I  —  I  struck  you  —  but  you  were 


204  The  Harbor  Master 

rough.  And  I  —  called  you  names  —  which  I  did 
not  mean." 

"  Let  it  pass,"  said  the  skipper,  gazing  at  the 
bacon  on  his  plate.  "  I  bes  rough,  as  ye  say.  It 
bes  the  way  I  was  born  an'  bred.  But  I  was 
meanin'  no  disrespect  to  ye,  as  the  holy  saints  be 
me  jedges.  Sure  I  —  I  couldn't  help  meself !  " 

So  it  happened  that  Miss  Flora  Lockhart  ate  her 
breakfast  beside  the  kitchen  stove  with  Mother 
Nolan,  the  skipper  and  young  Cormick.  The  way 
she  ate  was  a  wonder  to  watch,  all  so  easy  and  quiet 
and  polite.  Mother  Nolan  wagged  her  head  over 
it,  as  much  as  to  say  that  such  table  manners  would 
bring  no  good  to  such  a  place  as  Chance  Along, 
and  young  Cormick  could  do  nothing  but  stare  at 
the  beautiful  stranger.  She  talked  brightly,  with 
the  evident  intention  to  please.  It  was  her  nature 
to  want  to  impress  people  favorably  toward  her  — 
and  after  all,  she  owed  a  great  deal  to  these  people 
and,  for  a  few  weeks  longer  at  least,  was  entirely 
in  their  power.  She  saw  that  the  skipper  was  a 
strong  man  —  a  man  to  be  feared  —  and  that  her 
charms  had  ensnared  his  wild  heart.  Therefore  she 
must  play  the  game  artfully  with  him  instead  of 
continuing  the  crude  and  honest  method  of  slaps 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       205 

in  the  face.  She  believed  that  he  would  prove  harm- 
less and  docile  if  skilfully  handled,  but  as  danger- 
ous as  a  wounded  animal  if  insulted  and  rebuffed. 

After  breakfast  she  asked  for  Pat  Kavanagh. 
She  did  not  remember  his  name,  but  spoke  of  him 
as  the  funny  old  fellow  with  the  violin  and  the 
wooden  leg. 

"  If  he  were  here  we  could  have  a  fine  concert," 
she  said,  "  and  forget  all  about  the  terrible  wind 
and  snow  whirling  around  the  house."  Her  laugh- 
ing face  was  turned  to  the  skipper. 

"  Sure  then,  Pat  bes  the  lad  we  wants,"  said  the 
skipper,  grinning  like  one  entranced  by  a  glimpse 
of  heaven  itself.  There  was  a  golden  vision  in  his 
head,  poor  fool,  of  this  beautiful  creature  sitting 
beneath  his  roof  for  all  time,  her  red  lips  and  won- 
derful eyes  always  laughing  at  him,  her  silvery 
voice  forever  telling  him  to  forget  the  storm  out- 
side. The  future  looked  to  him  like  a  state  of 
bliss  such  as  one  sometimes  half-sees,  half-feels,  in 
dreams. 

"  I'll  go  fetch  him  an'  his  fiddle,"  he  said,  pulling 
on  his  heavy  jumper. 

"  Now  don't  ye  be  losin'  yerself  in  the  flurry," 
continued  Mother  Nolan. 


206  The  Harbor  Master 

"  It  bes  nought,  Granny,"  returned  the  skipper. 
"  Sure  I  kin  feel  me  way  on  me  hands  an'  knees." 

It  took  him  fifteen  minutes  to  find  Pat  Kava- 
nagh's  shanty  and  locate  the  door  of  it,  so  blinding 
and  choking  was  the  storm.  He  pushed  the  door 
open,  stumbled  into  the  warmth,  and  slammed  the 
timbers  shut  behind  him.  Mary  was  sewing  beside 
the  stove,  and  Pat  was  mumbling  over  the  first 
verse  of  a  new  "  come-all-ye."  They  looked  up  at 
the  skipper  in  astonishment. 

"  What  the  divil  bes  troublin'  ye,  Denny  Nolan, 
to  fetch  ye  out  o'  yer  own  house  sich  a  day  as 
this?"  demanded  the  ex-sailorman.  "Bes  there 
anything  the  matter  wid  that  grand  young  lady 
from  up-along?  " 

The  skipper  removed  his  cap  and  with  it  beat 
the  snow  from  his  limbs  and  body.  He  breathed 
heavily  from  his  struggle  with  the  storm.  Mary 
eyed  him  anxiously,  her  hands  idle  in  her  lap. 

"  I's  come  to  fetch  yer  over  to  me  own  house 
—  ye  an'  yer  fiddle,"  said  Nolan. 

"  The  divil  ye  has !  "  retorted  Pat  Kavanagh. 
"  Saints  presarve  ye,  lad,  what  kind  o'  rum  has 
ye  bin  a-drinkin'  of  this  mornin'  already?" 

"  Herself  bes  wantin'  ye,  Pat  —  ye  an'  yer  fiddle, 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       207 

for  to  have  a  concert  wid,"  said  the  skipper,  with 
childlike  trust  and  delight  in  his  voice. 

"  Skipper,  dear,  would  ye  be  haulin'  me  an'  me 
wooden  leg  out  into  sich  a  desperate  flurry  as  this 
here  ?  "  inquired  Pat,  aghast.  "  Saints  be  good  to 
ye,  skipper,  but  I'd  die  in  me  tracks !  " 

Some  of  the  foolish  delight  went  out  of  Nolan's 
face.  His  lips  closed  and  his  black  eyes  began  to 
glint  like  moonshine  on  new  ice. 

"  It  bain't  no  more  nor  a  step  or  two,"  he  said. 
"  If  ye  can't  walk  it  yerself,  Pat,  —  ye  an'  yer 
wooden  leg,  —  then  I  kin  tote  ye  on  me  back." 

"  Sure  ye  kin  go,  father ;  an'  I'll  be  goin'  along 
wid  the  two  o'  ye,"  said  Mary.  "  The  poor  lass 
bes  wantin'  amusement,  an'  it  be  but  right  for  us 
all  to  give  it  her.  Music  an'  a  concert  she  bes 
wantin'  to  keep  up  her  poor  little  heart  agin  the 
storm.  Sure,  an'  why  not?  Did  ye  think  for  her 
—  a  slip  o'  a  grand  concert-singer  from  up-akmg  — 
to  have  a  heart  for  the  wind  an'  snows  o'  Chance 
Along?" 

Pat  grumbled.     The  skipper  looked  at  Mary. 

"  There  bain't  nothin'  wrong  wid  her  heart,"  he 
said. 

"  Sure  there  bain't,"  agreed  Mary.     "  Her  poor 


208 


little  heart  bes  jist  sick  to  death  o'  Chance  Along 
—  an'  what  else  would  ye  look  for?  Sprees  an' 
company  she  must  be  havin',  day  after  day,  an' 
night  after  night,  like  what  she  has  always  had. 
It  bes  our  duty  to  amuse  her,  father,  an'  feed  her 
an'  nurse  her,  till  her  grand  folks  up-along  takes 
her  away." 

The  skipper  was  not  altogether  satisfied  with 
Mary's  words.  They  did  not  seem  to  voice  his 
own  ideas  on  the  subject  at  all,  though  they  were 
evidently  intended  to  agree  with  his  attitude  toward 
the  singer.  They  had  a  back-snap  to  them  that  he 
mistrusted. 

Half  an  hour  later  all  three  were  safe  in  the 
skipper's  kitchen,  breathless  and  coated  with  snow. 
Flora  welcomed  Mary  with  a  kiss. 

"  What  a  beauty  you  are,"  she  exclaimed. 

Mary's  rosy  cheeks  deepened  in  color  at  the 
praise,  and  a  shadow  came  out  from  the  depths  of 
her  gray  eyes.  Mother  Nolan  saw  all  this,  though 
she  seemed  to  be  very  busy  with  getting  poor  Pat 
and  his  wooden  leg  into  a  chair. 

Well,  a  punch  was  brewed,  and  Pat  played  on 
his  fiddle,  and  Flora  Lockhart  sang  as  no  one  but 
herself  ever  sang  before  on  that  coast  —  yes,  or 


Bill  Brennen  Preaches  Loyalty       209 

anywhere  else  in  the  whole  island  of  Newfound- 
land. The  wonder  of  her  singing  even  set  young 
Cormick's  heart  to  aching  with  nameless  and  un- 
dreamed of  aches.  As  for  the  skipper,  he  looked 
as  if  the  fairies  had  caught  him  for  surel 


CHAPTER   XIV 

DICK   LYNCH    MEETS    MR.    DARLING 

IN  Chance  Along  the  wintry  days  and  weeks 
crawled  by,  with  cold  and  thaw,  wind,  snow  and 
fog.  Flora  Lockhart  waited  in  vain  for  a  reply  to 
her  letter.  At  last  her  suspicions  were  awakened 
by  a  word  from  Mother  Nolan;  so  she  wrote  an- 
other letter  and  gave  it  to  the  old  woman.  The 
old  woman  gave  it  to  Mary  Kavanagh,  and  Mary 
in  turn  put  it  into  the  hands  of  one  of  the  young 
men  of  the  harbor,  with  instructions  to  take  it  to 
Witless  Bay  and  from  there  send  it  out  by  mail. 
The  young  man  promised  to  do  all  this,  of  course. 

"  An'  mind  ye,"  cautioned  Mary,  "  don't  ye  go 
an'  let  the  skipper  know  what  ye  bes  up  to." 

Now  this  young  man  was  one  of  the  dozen  who 
wanted  Mary  Kavanagh  for  a  wife.  He  was  not 
brave,  he  was  not  honest;  but  he  was  as  cunning 
as  a  fox.  So  he  thought  the  matter  over,  and  soon 
came  to  the  conclusion  that  the  game  was  not  worth 
the  candle.  He  was  afraid  of  the  skipper;  and 

210 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling 

he  was  content  that  the  girl  from  up-along  should 
remain  in  the  harbor  and  continue  to  blind  the 
skipper's  heart  to  the  charms  of  Mary  Kavanagh. 
So  he  went  quietly  to  the  master,  put  the  letter  in 
his  hands  and  told  him  what  he  knew  of  it.  Dennis 
Nolan  destroyed  the  letter,  and  told  the  young  man 
to  keep  himself  out  of  sight  for  the  next  three  days. 
The  infatuated  skipper  had  not  yet  given  up  hope 
of  winning  the  heart  of  the  wonderful  creature 
from  up-along. 

Late  in  March  a  French  brig,  bound  for  St. 
Pierre,  went  ashore  on  the  Squid  Rocks  to  the 
north  of  Chance  Along.  Only  two  of  her  crew 
reached  the  land-wash  alive.  They  were  powerful 
fellows,  swarthy  as  Arabs,  with  gold  rings  in  their 
ears,  the  devil  in  their  hearts,  and  a  smattering  of 
many  languages  on  their  tongues.  The  gale  that 
had  driven  the  brig  on  the  Squid  Rocks  had  inter- 
rupted them  in  the  hatching  of  a  mutiny  against 
their  captain,  mate  and  boatswain;  for  the  brig's 
cargo  consisted  of  silks  and  wines  for  the  smugglers 
of  St.  Pierre,  and  two  chests  of  gold  containing  the 
half-year's  pay  of  the  Governor,  officials,  and  sol- 
diers of  the  little  island. 

Black  Dennis  Nolan  and  his  men  found  them  on 


The  Harbor  Master 


the  land-wash,  more  dead  than  alive,  dragged  them 
back  out  of  reach  of  the  spray,  and  laid  them  on 
blankets  beside  a  fire.  The  brig  was  well  in  among 
the  rocks,  going  to  pieces  fast.  After  two  hours 
of  daring  effort  the  skipper  and  four  of  his  men 
reached  her,  and  found  the  chests  of  French  gold 
in  the  lazaret  beneath  the  captain's  cabin.  They 
remained  aboard  the  wreck  for  nearly  an  hour  be- 
fore venturing  shoreward  with  the  treasure.  They 
salvaged  the  chests  at  last,  however,  placed  a  guard 
over  them,  and  made  one  more  trip  to  the  brig  and 
back,  bringing  a  bale  or  two  of  silk  and  a  cask  of 
red  wine  the  second  time.  Then  the  brig  melted 
and  fell  to  pieces  before  their  eyes.  It  was  not  until 
then  that  any  one  noticed  that  the  two  swarthy  sail- 
ors had  recovered  and  departed,  taking  with  them 
the  blankets  and  bottle  of  rum  which  had  been  em- 
ployed in  reviving  them.  The  skipper  swore  might- 
ily at  this  discovery,  knocked  a  few  of  his  men 
about,  then  had  the  chests  of  gold  stowed  on  two 
hand-sleds  and  set  out  for  home  in  full  force  and 
at  top  speed.  On  reaching  Chance  Along  he  learned 
that  the  two  swarthy  strangers  had  already  been 
there,  and  departed  with  two  sealing-guns  and  a 
bag  of  food.  The  skipper  sent  Bill  Brennen  and 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling      213 

six  men  on  their  tracks,  for  he  did  not  want  the 
strangers  to  carry  out  to  the  world  the  news  of 
the  wreck  of  the  brig  and  ,the  salving  of  the  treas- 
ure-chests. He  did  not  follow  them  himself  because 
the  chests  had  to  be  opened,  and  their  contents 
divided  and  hidden  away  immediately,  and  the 
chests  themselves  destroyed. 

The  gold  was  divided  into  forty  equal  parts. 
One  part  was  given,  or  laid  aside,  for  every  man 
who  had  been  to  the  Squid  Rocks;  two  parts  went 
to  each  of  the  men  who  had  accompanied  the  skip- 
per to  the  brig  itself,  and  four  were  kept  by  the 
skipper.  There  was  no  grumbling  this  time.  The 
harvest  was  rich  beyond  the  wildest  dream  and  had 
been  fairly  shared.  The  money  belonging  to  the 
men  who  had  gone  after  the  two  strangers  was 
placed  in  the  hands  of  sons,  wives  or  fathers. 

"  Hide  it  away,  men,"  said  the  skipper,  "  for  if 
them  two  pirates  gets  clear  away,  they'll  sure  be 
back  some  day  wid  a  crew  o'  blackguards  like  them- 
selves, to  try  to  t'ief  all  our  property  away  from 
us." 

Bill  Brennen  and  his  party  returned  before  sun- 
down, carrying  a  wounded  comrade  and  a  dead 
Frenchman  along  with  them.  There  had  been  an 


214  The  Harbor  Master 

ambush  and  a  fight,  and  one  of  the  sailors  had 
escaped  clean  away.  The  skipper  was  in  a  rage; 
but,  as  the  faithful  Bill  Brennen  had  commanded 
the  party  and  Nick  Leary  had  been  a  member  of 
it,  he  kept  his  hands  and  feet  still  and  let  nothing 
fly  but  curses. 

Now  we  must  look  around  for  Dick  Lynch,  who 
did  not  go  out  of  this '  history  when  he  departed 
so  boldly  from  Chance  Along  with  his  sealing-gun 
on  his  shoulder.  Far  from  it.  Dick  was  intended 
for  greater  things  than  he  knew. 

A  week  after  the  wreck  of  the  French  brig  on 
the  Squid  Rocks,  Dick  Lynch  entered  a  public- 
house  situated  near  the  eastern  end  of  Water  Street, 
St.  John's,  sat  down  at  a  table  near  the  fire  and 
called  for  rum.  Though  Dick  consumed  much  rum, 
he  did  not  often  buy  it  at  this  establishment;  for 
he  roomed  in  Mother  McKay's  cottage  on  the  hill, 
back  of  the  city,  and  Mother  McKay  kept  a  shebeen. 
To-day,  however,  Dick  had  felt  that  he  could  stand 
no  more  of  Mother  McKay's  liquor  nor  of  the  hon- 
est dame's  society,  either.  The  rum  was  weak  and 
harsh  and  the  society  was  distracting  to  his 
thoughts.  What  he  wanted  was  matured  liquor 
and  quiet,  so  that  he  might  nail  down  his  somewhat 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling      215 

vague  plans  of  returning  to  Chance  Along  and  over- 
throwing the  skipper  thereof.  The  hour  was  that 
of  the  evening  dusk.  He  was  alone  in  this  par- 
ticular room  of  the  Ship  Ahoy  Hotel,  but  he  could 
hear  the  voices  of  other  imbibers  barking  and  roll- 
ing from  an  adjoining  apartment.  He  gulped  down 
half  of  his  rum  and  lit  his  pipe.  The  proprietor 
entered  then,  threw  a  lump  of  coal  on  the  fire  and 
lit  a  ship's  lantern  that  hung  from  the  middle  rafter. 
Next  moment,  the  outer  door  opened,  and  a  man 
entered  from  the  muddy  street,  his  sou'easter,  oil- 
skin coat  and  ruddy  young  face  all  agleam  with 
moisture. 

"  Good  evenin'  to  ye,  Mister  Darlin',"  said  the 
proprietor.  "  Foul  weather,  bain't  it,  sir?" 

"  Aye,  Jake,  foul  weather  it  is,"  returned  the 
young  man,  throwing  aside  his  dripping  hat. 
"  Bring  me  whiskey,  —  hot,  with  a  slice  of  lemon 
in  it  and  a  lump  of  sugar." 

Jake  departed,  and  Mr.  Darling  sat  down  beside 
the  fire  and  pulled  a  short  wooden  pipe  from  an 
inner  pocket.  In  repose,  his  young,  clean-shaven 
face  wore  an  expression  of  gravity  that  verged 
upon  the  dismal.  He  filled  his  pipe  with  cut  to- 
bacco from  a  leather  bag,  lit  it  and  then  glanced 


216  The  Harbor  Master 

at  Dick  Lynch  through  a  puff  of  twisting  blue 
smoke.  He  caught  Dick's  eyes  full  upon  him,  for 
that  worthy  had  been  staring  at  him  ever  since  he 
had  removed  his  dripping  sou'easter.  He  removed 
his  pipe  from  his  mouth  and  leaned  forward. 

"Hullo!"  he  said.  "I'll  swear  this  isn't  the 
first  time  I've  seen  that  black  mug  of  yours,  my 
man!  But  it  wasn't  in  St.  John's  —  an'  it  wasn't 
aboard  any  ship." 

Dick  Lynch  was  of  the  same  way  of  thinking, 
for  he  recognized  this  young  man  as  the  officer 
from  the  Durham  Castle,  who  had  commanded  the 
party  that  had  been  left  behind  by  Captain  McTa- 
vish  to  guard  the  wreck  of  that  good  ship.  He 
took  another  swig  at  his  glass  and  shifted  his  eyes 
to  the  fire. 

"  Sure,  sir,  ye  may  be  right,"  he  said.  "  Was 
it  in  Harbor  Grace  ye  seed  me  ?  " 

"  No.  I  have  never  set  foot  in  Harbor  Grace," 
returned  Mr.  Darling. 

"  That  bes  my  home,  sir  —  Harbor  Grace,"  lied 
Dick,  cheerfully. 

Just  then  Jake  entered  with  Mr.  Darling's  toddy. 
He  set  it  at  the  young  sailor's  elbow,  hoped  it  was 
entirely  to  his  taste,  and  retired.  Darling  sipped 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling      217 

the  toddy,  puffed  twice  at  his  pipe,  then  fixed  his 
keen  glance  upon  Lynch's  face. 

"  Don't  lie  to  me,"  he  said.  "  Your  mug  is  too 
ugly  to  forget  easy!  You  are  the  big,  cussing 
pirate  the  savages  gave  the  name  of  skipper  to, 
along  on  that  devilish  coast  to  the  south  where  we 
lost  the  Durham  Castle.  You  are  a  sly  fellow,  and 
a  daring  one;  but  it  will  not  help  you  a  mite  to 
sit  there  and  talk  about  your  happy  home  in  Har- 
bor Grace  to  me." 

"  The  skipper !  "  exclaimed  Dick  Lynch,  in  gen- 
uine anger  and  dismay.  "  Saints  presarve  ye,  I'd 
as  soon  be  took  for  the  divil  himself  as  for  Black 
Dennis  Nolan  o'  Chance  Along.  No,  sir,  I  bain't 
that  tyrant,  though  some  folks  do  say  as  how  I 
bes  about  his  size  and  color." 

"  Is  that   so  ? "  enquired   Mr.   Darling,  quietly. 
"  You  are  not  the  skipper  of  Chance  Along,  but 
you  look  like  him.    Is  that  the  way  of  it?  " 
"  Aye,  that  bes  the  way  of  it,  sir." 
"  You  know  this  skipper  fellow,  then  ?  " 
"  Aye,  sir,  to  me  cost  —  may  the  divil  fly  away 
wid  him !    Hasn't  he  bullied  me  an'  cheated  me  all 
me  life  long,  the  divil-possessed  tyrant!    Bain't  he 
the  livin'  curse  o'  Chance  Along  ?  " 


218  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Chance  Along,  is  it? "  murmured  Mr.  Darling. 
"  Now  where  the  devil  is  Chance  Along?  " 

Then,  raising  his  voice,  "  You  don't  seem  to  love 
this  skipper  fellow  —  this  Black  Dennis  Nolan. 
What  is  the  trouble  between  the  pair  of  you  ?  " 

Dick  finished  his  rum,  eyed  the  other  suspiciously, 
then  stared  sullenly  at  the  fire. 

Mr.  Darling  smiled  grimly  and  shouted  for  Jake. 

"  My  friend  will  have  more  of  the  same,"  he 
said,  pointing  to  Lynch's  empty  glass.  "  But  make 
it  hot,  Jake.  This  is  no  kind  of  weather  for  cold 
liquor.  Better  bring  the  bottle  right  along,  and  the 
kettle  and  sugar  too." 

Twenty  minutes  later  Dick  Lynch  began  to  talk 
again,  his  belated  caution  entirely  vaporized  and 
blown  out  of  his  somewhat  inferior  brain  by  the 
fumes  of  hot  rum,  lemon  and  sugar. 

"  I  knows  ye,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Sure,  didn't  I  know 
ye  the  minute  I  clapped  me  two  eyes  on  ye.  Cap'n 
o'  that  big  ship  that  come  ashore  in  Nolan's  Cove, 
t'ree  miles  to  the  south  o'  Chance  Along,  ye  be. 
An'  a  smart  landin'  ye  made,  too,  boat  by  boat,  wid 
every  mother's  son  o'  ye  wid  a  gun  an'  a  sword  in 
his  two  hands.  Sure,  sir,  ye  wasn't  lookin'  for  to 
meet  wid  no  man-killin'  wrackers  on  that  coast,  was 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling      219 

ye?  Saints  forgive  ye,  sir,  the  babe  unborn  would 
be  safe  to  come  ashore  in  Chance  Along !  " 

John  Darling  smiled.  "You  are  a  sharp  lad," 
he  said.  "  I  saw  it  in  your  eyes  that  you  knew  me 
the  moment  I  entered  the  room.  I  don't  see  how 
I  ever  came  to  mistake  a  smart,  well-spoken  lad 
like  you  for  that  fellow  you  call  the  skipper.  Well, 
I  am  sorry  for  it.  But  you  have  made  one  mistake, 
my  lad.  I  wasn't  the  captain  of  that  ship.  I  was 
only  one  of  the  mates." 

"  Well,  sir,"  returned  Lynch,  cordially,  "  I  bain't 
sharp  enough  for  to  see  much  difference  atween  a 
cap'n  an'  a  mate.  Ye  looks  like  a  cap'n  to  me, 
anyhow." 

He  paused,  poured  more  rum  and  hot  water, 
sampled  the  brew  and  continued. 

"  Now  I  feels  it  a  shame,  sir,  the  way  Black  Den- 
nis Nolan  made  a  fool  o'  the  lot  o'  ye,  wid  his  lies 
about  Frenchman's  Cove  an'  Nap  Harbor.  Sure, 
I  felt  desperate  bad  about  it  at  the  time  —  an'  now 
I  feels  worse.  Aye,  sir,  worse,  seein'  as  how  ye 
be  sich  a  fine,  grand  ginerous  young  gintleman  as 
ye  be.  An'  then  the  way  he  ups  an'  takes  all  yer 
gold  an'  fine  jewels  away  from  ye,  an'  ye  t'inkin' 
all  the  time  'twas  the  folk  o'  Nap  Harbor  done  it !  " 


220 


"  Yes,  it  was  certainly  an  unmannerly  trick," 
said  Darling,  quietly.  "  I  suppose  he  took  it  all  to 
Chance  Along  —  gold,  jewels  and  everything  — 
and  kept  it  for  himself?  " 

"  He  kep'  more  nor  his  share  o'  the  sovereigns, 
ye  kin  lay  to  that,  sir ;  an'  as  for  the  rings  an'  sich 
fancy  trinkets  —  well,  sir,  he  says  as  how  we'll  all 
be  gettin'  our  share  come  June  an'  he  gets  'round 
to  St.  John's  here  to  sell  'em.  But  there  hain't 
no  share  for  me,  sir.  I  fit  for  me  rights,  I  did  — 
an' here  I  be!" 

The  interview  continued  for  another  hour,  and 
during  the  glowing,  rum-inspired  course  of  it,  Dick 
Lynch  told  all  that  he  knew  of  Chance  Along,  its 
manners,  its  skipper  and  its  exact  location.  He 
confessed  that  he  had  never  seen  a  great  diamond 
and  ruby  necklace,  but  that  he  had  seen  a  whole 
casket  full  of  jewels  and  was  willing  to  swear  by 
all  the  saints  aloft  that  the  casket  was  still  in  Chance 
Along.  He  did  not  notice  that  Mr.  Darling  was 
spending  all  his  time  over  one  small  glass  of  whis- 
key toddy.  Finding  the  young  officer  a  good  lis- 
tener and  an  agreeable  companion,  he  went  on  to 
tell  of  the  wreck  of  the  Royal  William,  of  the  panic 
in  the  flooded  cabin,  and  at  last  of  the  beautiful 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling 

young  woman  with  the  voice  like  fairy  bells  and 
eyes  like  a  mermaid's  eyes. 

Mr.  Darling  sat  up  at  that  and  laid  his  pipe  on 
the  table. 

"  A  full-rigged  ship,  you  say  ?  What  was  her 
name  ?  "  he  asked,  anxiously. 

"  The  name  o'  the  ship  ?  Well,  sir,  far's  I  kin 
remember  it  was  the  Rile  Willyum.  Aye,  sir,  that 
was  it." 

Mr.  Darling  got  excited.  His  face  went  dead 
white,  then  flaming  red,  and  he  leaned  forward  and 
gripped  the  fingers  of  his  right  hand  in  Lynch's 
shoulder.  But  Dick  was  too  mellow  and  happy  to 
object  or  to  feel  surprise. 

"  And  what  was  the  lady's  name  ?  "  cried  Mr. 
Darling.  "  Out  with  it,  man !  Out  with  it !  What 
was  her  name  ?  " 

"  Name  o'  the  lady  ?  Lady's  name  ?  Her  name  ? 
Sure,  sir,  it  bes  Nora." 

"  Nora!    Don't  you  mean  Flora?  " 

"  Aye,  Flora.  Sure,  sir,  Flora  bes  what  I 
said." 

"  God ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Darling,  leaning  back 
in  his  chair.  Dick  Lynch  smiled  across  at  him. 
He  recovered  himself  in  a  minute. 


222  The  Harbor  Master 

"With  a  beautiful  voice,  you  say?"  he  queried 
faintly. 

"  Aye,  sir.  Sure,  didn't  she  sing  a  song  afore 
the  Queen  herself,"  returned  Dick. 

"  It  is  Flora ! "  cried  the  other.  "  My  God,  it 
is  Flora !  "  Then  gripping  Lynch  again,  "  Did  you 
say  —  did  you  say  she  —  she  is  —  well  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

"  Sure,  I  telled  ye  she  bes  well,"  replied  the  be- 
fuddled fisherman.  "  Well,  d'ye  say?  Aye,  she  bes 
plump  as  a  pa'tridge,  a-livin'  on  the  fat  o'  the  land 
—  the  fat  o'  all  the  wracks  that  comes  up  from  the 
sea.  An'  a  beauty  she  bes,  altogether.  Saints  pre- 
sarve  ye,  sir,  she  bes  the  beautifulest  female  woman 
ever  come  ashore  on  that  coast.  She  was  desperate 
bad  wid  the  fever,  was  Nora,  when  first  the  skipper 
took  her  home  wid  him;  but  now  she  bes  plump 
as  a  young  swile,  sir,  an'  too  beautiful  entirely  for 
the  likes  o'  meself  to  look  at." 

Mr.  Darling's  face  went  white  again. 

"  The  skipper?  "  he  asked,  huskily.  "  For  God's 
sake,  man,  what  are  you  saying?  Why  does  she 
stay  in  Chance  Along?  What  has  she  to  do  with 
that  damned  big  black  beast  you  call  the  skipper  ?  " 

"  Now  you  bes  a-gettin'  excited,  sir,  all  along 


Dick  Lynch  Meets  Mr.  Darling      223 

o'  that  Nora  girl,"  protested  Dick  Lynch.  "  She 
bes  a-livin'  wid  Mother  Nolan,  in  the  skipper's  own 
house.  The  skipper  bes  figgerin'  on  coaxin'  of  her 
'round  to  marry  wid  him;  but  I  hears,  sir,  as  how 
she  telled  him  as  how  she'd  marry  no  poor,  igno- 
rant, dacent  fisherman  at  all,  but  a  king  wid  a 
golden  crown  on  his  head.  Aye,  sir,  that  bes  the 
trut'.  The  likes  o'  she  be  well  able  to  keep  Black 
Denny  Nolan  in  his  place." 

"  Thank  God ! "  exclaimed  Mr.  Darling,  sitting 
back  in  his  chair  again. 

Dick  Lynch  eyed  him  with  drunken  cunning. 

"  Ye  knows  that  grand  young  woman,  sir  ?  "  he 
queried. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Darling.  "  She  crossed  to  Lon- 
don aboard  my  ship  three  years  ago.  We  —  we 
were  good  friends." 

"  Aye,  ye  would  be,"  returned  Dick  with  a 
drunken  leer.  And  then,  lurching  forward,  "  Ye'll 
be  makin'  a  trip  'round  to  Chance  Along  I  bes 
t'inkin',  sir,  to  put  the  comather  on  to  this  Dennis 
Nolan?  Sure,  an'  why  not?  The  dirty  squid  bes 
as  full  o'  gold  an'  riches  as  any  marchant.  I'll  be 
goin'  along  wid  ye,  sir  —  if  ye  gives  me  two  pistols 
an'  takes  two  yerself.  I'll  show  ye  where  the  har- 


224  The  Harbor  Master 

bor  bes,  an'  his  own  house  wid  Nora  in  it  —  an' 
all.  If  we  gets  to  the  harbor  quiet,  about  the  middle 
o'  the  night,  we'll  shoot  the  skipper  in  his  bed,  the 
black  divil,  afore  he  kin  so  much  as  lay  a  curse 
on  to  us.  I  bes  wid  ye,  sir.  Ye  kin  trust  Dick 
Lynch  as  ye  would  yer  own  mother." 

Mr.  Darling  said  that  he  had  a  great  deal  of 
business  to  attend  to  in  the  city,  but  that  he  would 
meet  Dick  Lynch  in  this  very  room,  at  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning,  five  days  later.  He  did  not  mean 
a  word  of  it,  for  he  would  not  have  trusted  that 
worthy  any  farther  than  he  could  have  thrown  him 
over  his  shoulder.  But  he  arranged  the  meeting 
and  promised  to  supply  plenty  of  pistols  for  the 
expedition.  Then  he  said  good  night  and  went  out 
of  the  warm  room  and  fumes  of  rum  to  the  mud 
and  driving  sleet  of  the  night,  leaving  Dick  Lynch 
smiling  to  himself  at  thought  of  what  his  enemy, 
the  skipper,  would  say  when  he  woke  up  in  bed 
some  fine  morning  and  found  himself  dead. 


CHAPTER    XV 

MR.    DARLING   SETS   OUT   ON    A   JOURNEY 

THIS  John  Darling  was  no  ordinary  shell-back. 
His  father  was  an  English  parson,  his  uncle  a 
Fellow  of  Wadham  College,  Oxford,  and  his  eldest 
brother  a  commander  in  the  Royal  Navy.  John 
was  poor  in  worldly  gear,  however,  and  had  re- 
cently been  third  officer  of  the  Durham  Castle. 
Now  he  was  without  a  berth,  and  was  making  a 
bid  for  fortune  of  an  unusual  and  adventurous 
kind.  In  London,  Sir  Ralph  Harwood  had  made 
him  a  private  offer  of  one  thousand  pounds  for  the 
recovery  of  the  necklace  of  diamonds  and  rubies. 
Darling  had  landed  in  St.  John's,  on  his  quest, 
about  six  days  before  his  meeting  with  Dick  Lynch. 
Upon  landing  he  had  learned  at  the  Merchants' 
Club  that  the  Royal  William,  bound  for  New  York 
from  London,  was  reported  lost.  She  had  foun- 
dered in  mid-ocean  or  had  been  shattered  upon 
some  desolate  coast.  The  underwriters  'had  paid 
up  like  men  —  and  both  the  American  and  English 

226 


226  The  Harbor  Master 

press  had  lamented  the  tragic  fate  of  Miss  Flora 
Lockhart,  'the  young  New  York  singer,  who  had  so 
lately  won  fame  in  London. 

Darling  had  taken  the  news  of  Flora's  terrible 
fate  keenly  to  heart.  He  had  crossed  the  ocean 
with  her  three  years  before;  and  she  had  haunted 
his  dreams,  waking  and  sleeping,  ever  since. 
Though  he  had  always  felt  that  his  devotion  was 
hopeless,  it  was  no  less  real  for  that.  And  now, 
from  a  drunken  fisherman,  he  had  learned  that  she 
was  alive,  in  good  health,  and  a  captive ! 

Mr.  Darling  went  straight  to  his  own  hotel  from 
the  Ship  Ahoy.  He  cleaned  his  pistols,  made  a 
rough  map  of  the  east  coast,  south  of  Witless  Bay, 
from  the  information  obtained  from  Dick  Lynch, 
packed  a  couple  of  saddle-bags,  rolled  up  a  pair 
of  blankets  and  sent  for  the  landlord.  From  the 
landlord  he  obtained  change  for  two  five-pound 
Bank  of  England  notes,  information  concerning  the 
road  from  St.  John's  to  the  head  of  Witless  Bay, 
and  hired  a  horse. 

Mr.  Darling  set  out  on  his  adventurous  journey 
after  an  early  breakfast  eaten  by  candle-light. 
He  felt  courageous,  invincible.  He  would  rescue 
the  lady  of  his  long  sea-dreams  from  that  black- 


Mr.  Darling  Sets  Out  On  a  Journey   227 

faced,  black-hearted  pirate  who  was  called  the  skip- 
per of  Chance  Along.  In  the  flush  of  this  deter- 
mination the  necklace  was  forgotten.  So  confident 
was  he  of  success,  and  so  intent  upon  picturing  the 
rescue  of  that  beautiful  creature  who  had  bewitched 
him  three  long,  varied  sailor-years  ago,  that  he  had 
covered  several  miles  of  his  journey  before  noticing 
the  stumblings  and  gruntings  of  the  ill-conditioned 
beast  between  his  knees.  He  departed  from  the 
city  by  way  of  a  road  leading  westward  from  the 
head  of  the  harbor.  This  he  followed  for  three 
miles,  through  slush  and  half-frozen  mud,  then 
turned  to  the  left.  He  forced  his  horse  into  a  trot. 
It  pecked  badly,  and  he  shot  over  its  bowed  head 
and  landed  in  a  mud-hole.  Scrambling  to  his  feet 
he  noticed  for  the  first  time  the  gaunt  ribs,  heaving 
flanks  and  swollen  legs  of  his  steed.  He  swore 
heartily,  seized  the  bridle  and  dragged  the  horse 
forward.  The  road  was  indescribable.  Mud,  slush 
and  icy  water  took  him  to  the  knee  at  every  step; 
but  he  plugged  manfully  forward,  dragging  the 
protesting  horse  after  him.  So  for  an  hour,  across 
the  barren  rise  of  land  to  the  southward,  after  which 
he  remounted  and  rode  at  the  best  speed  he  could 
command  until  the  horse  stumbled  again  and  again 


228  The  Harbor  Master 

unseated  him.  Undaunted,  Mr.  Darling  took  his 
turn  on  foot  again,  dragging  the  puffing  beast  along 
at  his  muddy  heels.  The  way  was  nothing  but  a 
muddy  track  across  a  desolate  barren.  It  curved 
steadily  to  the  left  and  at  last  brought  him  in  sight 
of  the  irregular  coast  and  the  gray  sea.  By  noon 
he  had  reached  a  miserable,  dirty  shebeen;  and 
here  he  dried  himself,  sheltered  and  fed  his  horse 
and  ate  from  his  own  provisions.  He  rested  there 
for  two  hours  (for  his  horse's  sake  rather  than  his 
own),  and  then  mounted,  threw  a  couple  of  shil- 
lings to  the  keeper  of  the  house  and  continued  on 
his  way.  He  studied  the  coast-line  intently  as  he 
floundered  along.  He  saw  that  most  of  the  shore 
ice  had  melted  or  broken  away  from  the  land-wash. 
Plans  for  the  rescue  of  Flora  Lockhart  were  taking 
shape  in  his  mind.  Beyond  a  doubt  the  rescue 
would  have  to  be  made  by  water ;  and  so  he  studied 
every  sheltered  haven  and  surf-footed  cape  as  he 
worked  his  heroic  way  southward,  now  plunging 
in  his  precarious  saddle,  now  plunging  with  his 
own  legs  in  the  mire. 

The  figure  of  another  wayfarer  came  in  sight 
early  in  the  afternoon.  The  stranger  was  on  foot. 
He  wore  a  red  blanket  round  his  shoulders  and 


Mr.  Darling  Sets  Out  On  a  Journey   229 

carried  a  long  gun  of  ancient  pattern.  He  was  a 
big  fellow  with  a  swarthy  face  and  bad  eyes,  and 
his  ears  were  adorned  with  gold  rings.  Mr.  Dar- 
ling did  not  relish  the  fellow's  looks,  and  so  passed 
him  without  halting,  alert,  with  his  right  hand  on 
the  butt  of  a  pistol  in  his  pocket.  This  picturesque 
ruffian  was  heading  northward.  After  passing  Mr. 
Darling  he  turned  and  glanced  back  several  times, 
his  interest  doubtless  attracted  by  the  respectability 
of  the  other's  appearance  and  the  bulging  saddle- 
bags. But  he  did  not  stop.  Neither  did  he  return. 
The  young  man  with  the  old  horse  looked  to  him 
like  a  fighter  —  and  even  if  the  saddle-bags  were 
stuffed  with  gold  they  would  prove  but  a  flea  bite 
to  the  stake  which  he  had  in  mind. 

Mr.  Darling  and  his  encumbering  steed  reached 
Raggedy  Cove  about  an  hour  after  sunset.  Mr. 
Darling  was  in  good  heart  and,  thanks  to  fine  lungs 
and  muscles,  and  a  flawless  constitution,  was  as  fit 
in  body  as  spirit.  He  found  a  bed  for  himself  and 
a  stable  for  the  horse,  and  an  old  man  full  of  in- 
formation concerning  the  quickest  and  easiest  way 
to  get  to  Witless  Bay.  This  was  by  water,  said  the 
old  man.  His  own  son  George  was  going  south 
along  the  coast  next  morning,  in  a  bully.  So  Dar- 


230  The  Harbor  Master 

ling  boarded  the  bully  next  morning,  leaving  his 
'horse  with  the  old  man.  George,  the  navigator  of 
the  bully,  was  an  inquisitive  young  man;  but  his 
eyes  were  steady  and  his  face  honest.  In  spite  of 
his  prying  questions,  he  won  Mr.  Darling's  good- 
will by  the  way  he  handled  his  boat.  Of  all 
branches  of  human  skill,  that  of  seamanship  ap- 
pealed most  strongly  to  John  Darling's  heart  and 
head.  He  respected  a  smart  sailor  just  as  intensely 
as  he  despised  a  bungling  one.  He  was  an  un- 
usually fine  sailor  himself,  and  could  handle  any 
vessel,  large  or  small,  as  easily  as  he  could  navigate 
it.  So  he  answered  a  few  of  the  fisherman's  ques- 
tions good-naturedly,  and  asked  a  great  many  in 
return.  George  Wick  had  heard  of  Chance  Along, 
but  had  never  been  there.  And  why  should  he 
have  been  there?  Nobody  ever  went  to  Chance 
Along.  Yes,  he  had  once  seen  Black  Dennis  Nolan. 

"  'Twas  back  in  September,  sir,"  he  said.  "  Sure, 
didn't  he  put  into  Raggedy  Cove  one  night  —  him 
an'  his  fore-an'-after  —  bound  from  St.  John's,  wid 
a  freight  o'  grub  an'  gear.  But  what  business 
would  ye  be  havin'  wid  the  likes  o'  him,  sir?" 

Darling  ignored  the  question  and  asked  another. 
No,  George  Wick  was  not  familiar  with  the  coast 


Mr.  Darling  Sets  Out  On  a  Journey   231 

south  of  Witless  Bay;  but  he  had  always  heard 
that  it  was  a  desperate  bad  coast. 

"  What  is  your  business  in  Witless  Bay?  "  asked 
Darling. 

The  young  fisherman  pointed  to  four  boxes  of 
plug  tobacco  in  the  bottom  of  the  bully. 

"They  bes  for  Skipper  Walsh,"  he  said.  "I 
trades  'em  for  fish,  an'  then  I  heads  back  for  Rag- 
gedy Cove." 

"If  you  will  sail  me  right  around  to  Chance 
Along  I  will  pay  you  well  for  it,"  said  Darling. 
"  My  business  in  Chance  Along  is  important  — 
yes,  very  important.  It  would  be  worth  five  sover- 
eigns to  you,  my  man  —  that  little  trip." 

George  Wick  looked  interested,  but  shook  his 
head. 

"  It  bes  a  bad  coast,  sir,"  he  said,  "  an'  clean 
unbeknownst  to  me.  An'  now  it  would  be  desper- 
ate, sir,  what  wid  the  ice  a-chokin'  all  the  little 
coves  so  ye  couldn't  run  in  from  a  squall  o'  wind, 
sir." 

"  The  shore-ice  is  gone,  as  you  can  see  for  your- 
self, and  the  drift-ice  will  not  be  down  this  way 
until  near  June,"  replied  Darling.  "  But  don't 
make  any  more  excuses,  George.  You  are  not  the 


232  The  Harbor  Master 

man  I  want,  anyway,  for  I  see  that  you  are  no 
good  for  anything  but  asking  questions.  I'll  be  able 
to  find  some  lad  in  Witless  Bay,  with  a  boat  of 
some  sort,  who  isn't  afraid  of  the  coast  to  the 
southward." 

George  Wick  sulked  for  a  few  minutes,  then 
asked,  "  What  bes  yer  business  wid  Black  Dennis 
Nolan,  anyhow,  sir?  Bes  ye  a  constable,  sir,  or 
anything  like  that?  " 

"  My  business  is  of  a  private  nature,"  replied 
Mr.  Darling.  "  I  am  a  sailor,  not  a  constable  — 
an  officer  of  the  Merchant  Marine." 

"  Aye,  sir,  I  knowed  ye  for  a  sailor,"  said  the 
other ;  "  but  there  was  a  crew  of  constables  along 
this  way  back  in  November,  rigged  out  like  fisher- 
men an'  swearin'  as  how  they  was  fishermen.  They 
went  south;  an'  they  soon  come  back  wid  empty 
hands.  We  was  all  t'inkin'  in  Raggedy  Cove  as 
how  some  vessel  had  maybe  bin  broke  up  afore  it 
was  deserted  by  the  crew,  as  is  the  custom  wid  some 
folks  in  some  harbors.  An'  when  I  see  ye  wid 
business  in  Chance  Along,  sir  —  well,  Black  Dennis 
Nolan  do  surely  look  to  me  like  a  man  who'd  be 
breakin'  into  a  ship  widout  waitin'  for  her  crew  to 
desart  her." 


Mr.  Darling  Sets  Out  On  a  Journey   233 

Mr.  Darling  smiled.  "  You  are  a  smart  man, 
George  Wick,"  he  said. 

The  bully  rounded  into  Witless  Bay  and  worked 
up  to  the  settlement  at  the  head  of  it  without  acci- 
dent. Wick  handed  over  his  tobacco  to  Skipper 
Walsh ;  and  then,  with  an  eye  on  Mr.  Darling,  said 
he  would  call  in  a  few  days  later  for  his  trade  of 
fish.  Darling  nodded,  and  purchased  tea,  hard- 
bread  and  bacon  from  the  skipper.  Later,  he  and 
George  filled  a  small  keg  with  water  and  put  it 
aboard,  and  bought  two  sealing-guns  and  a  supply 
of  powder  and  slugs.  They  headed  down  the  bay 
at  the  first  gray  wash  of  dawn.  After  three  hours 
of  hauling  across  the  wind  they  rounded  the  south- 
ern headland  of  the  bay.  They  made  an  easting  of 
more  than  a  mile  before  heading  due  south.  Mr. 
Darling  took  the  tiller  now,  and  George  manned 
the  sheet.  Darling  produced  a  pair  of  marine 
glasses  and  the  chart  which  he  had  made  from  in- 
formation received  from  Dick  Lynch.  They  skirted 
a  lee-shore  and  had  to  beat  up  to  windward  again 
and  again  to  clear  themselves.  Before  sunset  they 
ran  into  a  tiny,  sheltered  cove  and  made  camp. 

It  was  shortly  after  noon  of  the  next  day  that 
Mr.  Darling,  diligently  scrutinizing  the  shore 


234  The  Harbor  Master 

through  his  glasses,  saw  something  that  caught 
his  attention.  He  edged  the  bully  in  and  looked 
again. 

"By  heaven,  it  is  a  man's  leg!"  he  exclaimed. 
He  passed  the  glasses  forward  to  Wick  and 
pointed  the  direction. 

"  Sure,"  said  Wick.  "  Sure,  sir,  it  bes  some 
poor  divil  wid  a  skinnywopper  on  his  leg  —  so  it 
bain't  nobody  from  a  wrack,  ye  kin  lay  to  that." 

They  ran  the  bully  shoreward  and  lowered  the 
sail.  Darling  sprang  to  the  land-wash  and  found 
the  battered  body  of  a  man  wedged  tight  between 
two  icy  rocks  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff.  It  was  frozen 
stiff;  but  it  was  evident  that  it  had  not  always 
been  frozen.  The  crabs  had  found  it,  and  even  the 
heavy  clothing  was  torn  to  strips.  Mr.  Darling 
stooped  and  took  a  little,  red-bound  casket  from 
the  torn  breast.  With  his  back  to  George  Wick  he 
opened  it  with  trembling  fingers.  The  diamonds 
and  rubies  of  Lady  Harwood's  necklace  flashed  up 
at  him! 


CHAPTER    XVI 

MR.    DARLING   ARRIVES   IN    CHANCE   ALONG 

MR.  JOHN  DARLING  stood  spellbound  for  a  full 
half-minute,  gazing  down  at  the  flaming,  flashing 
gems  coiled  in  their  silken  bed.  He  was  aroused 
from  his  wonder  and  wild  conjecture  by  the  voice 
of  George  Wick. 

"What  bes  the  trouble,  sir?"  called  the  fisher- 
man, who  was  busy  fending  the  bully  off  the  rocks. 
"  Who  bes  it,  anyhow  ?  It  bain't  no  friend  o'  yer- 
self,  sir,  surely?" 

Darling  shut  the  casket  and  slipped  it  into  an 
inner  breast-pocket  of  his  reefer.  He  turned 
slowly  toward  the  sea  and  the  boat,  with  a  studied 
expression  of  puzzled  pity  on  his  face. 

"  Some  poor  fellow  who  has  stepped  off  the 
cliff,"  he  said.  "  I  never  saw  him  before  —  but  the 
sight  of  him  shook  me  a  bit.  He  has  been  here 
quite  awhile,  I  should  say  —  yes,  through  thaw 
and  frost,  frost  and  thaw.  Aye,  and  the  crabs 
have  been  at  him,  poor  devil !  I  suppose  we  should 

236 


236  The  Harbor  Master 

bury  him;  but  there  is  no  place  here  to  dig  a 
grave." 

"Come  aboard,  sir!  Come  aboard  wid  ye!" 
exclaimed  Wick,  in  a  trembling  voice.  "  It  bain't 
no  affair  of  our'n,  sir  —  an'  there  bes  the  divil's 
own  luck  in  finding  a  dead  man  unexpected." 

Mr.  Darling  crossed  the  land-wash  without  an- 
other word,  waded  knee-deep  into  the  tide,  and 
climbed  aboard  the  boat.  George  Wick  poled  the 
bully  clear  of  the  surf  with  one  of  the  oars,  then 
jumped  forward  and  hoisted  the  red  sail.  Darling 
drew  his  chart  from  his  pocket,  examined  it,  then 
raised  his  glasses  and  studied  the  coast-line  to  the 
southward.  The  wind  was  light,  but  dead  on  shore. 
The  bully  hauled  across  it  cleverly.  A  whitish  gray 
haze  stood  along  the  sky-line  to  the  east. 

"  We'll  be  havin'  thick  weather  afore  sundown, 
sir,  wid  this  wind  holdin',"  said  Wick. 

Darling  nodded.  "  We  must  be  getting  pretty 
close  to  Chance  Along,"  he  said.  "  Yes,  there  is 
smoke.  Can  you  see  it  ?  " 

George  could  not  make  it  out  with  his  unassisted 
eyes,  but  through  the  glasses  he  saw  the  blue  reek 
of  wood-smoke  above  a  distant  point  of  the  coast 
easily  enough.  An  hour  later  the  bully  threaded 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   237 

the  rocks  off  Squid  Beach.  Dick  Lynch  had  spoken 
of  these  rocks  when  the  rum  was  warm  in  his  head, 
in  the  tap-room  of  the  Ship  Ahoy,  and  Darling  had 
marked  them  on  his  chart. 

"  We  are  within  two  miles  of  it,"  said  Darling, 
his  voice  husky  with  emotion  at  thought  of  Flora 
Lockhart. 

George  Wick  turned  his  face  toward  the  east  and 
the  white  wall  of  fog  that  now  rolled  upon  the  gray 
water  within  a  mile  of  the  coast. 

"  Aye,  sir ;  but  we'll  not  be  makin'  it  afore  the 
fog  catches  us,"  he  replied. 

"  That  will  not  bother  my  plans,"  said  Darling. 
"  I  don't  intend  to  sail  right  into  Chance  Along, 
anyway.  I  want  to  pay  a  surprise  visit.  We'll  find 
a  bit  of  a  cove  along  here  somewhere,  I  think." 

He  was  right.  About  a  mile  and  a  half  beyond 
the  Squid  Rocks  they  found  a  little  sheltered  cove 
that  was  no  more  than  a  pocket  in  the  cliff.  The 
beach  was  narrow,  and  a  glance  disclosed  the  fact 
that  at  every  full  tide  it  was  entirely  submerged; 
but  a  "  drook  "  or  a  narrow  cleft,  thickly  grown 
with  hardy  bushes,  led  up  from  the  land-wash  to  the 
barrens  above.  They  lowered  the  sail  and  nosed 
their  way  into  the  cove.  The  streaming  skirmishers 


238  The  Harbor  Master 

of  the  fog  were  over  them  by  this  time.  They 
beached  the  bully  at  the  foot  of  the  drook  and  made 
her  fast. 

"  Keep  everything  aboard,  and  make  yourself 
snug,"  said  Mr.  Darling.  "  Watch  the  tide.  Haul 
in  and  back  off  with  it;  and,  whatever  you  do,  lie 
low  and  keep  quiet.  I  am  going  to  take  a  look  at 
Chance  Along  —  on  the  sly,  you  understand. 
You'll  know  all  about  it  later.  Don't  worry  if  I 
don't  get  back  within  the  next  two  or  three  hours." 

"  Ye  bes  after  Black  Dennis  Nolan,  sir,"  said 
Wick. 

Mr.  Darling  nodded,  placed  two  loaded  pistols 
in  his  pocket  and  vanished  up  the  tangled  slope  of 
the  drook.  Wick  listened  to  the  upward  scram- 
bling until  it  suddenly  died  away  and  fog  and 
silence  covered  him  deep  like  a  flood.  Then  he 
filled  and  lit  his  pipe  and  sat  down  in  the  shelter 
of  a  tarpaulin  to  think  it  over.  He  sensed  danger 
in  the  blind  choking  air.  He  felt  anxiety  for  his 
companion  and  fear  for  himself;  but  curiosity  and 
a  natural  courage  fortified  him  to  a  certain  degree. 

Upon  reaching  the  level  of  the  barrens,  Mr. 
Darling  stood  motionless  for  a  little  while  and 
listened  intently  to  the  vague,  fog-muffled  breath- 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   239 

ing  of  the  sea  below  him.  He  could  hear  nothing 
else.  Turning  to  the  south  he  moved  silently  for- 
ward along  a  well-worn  path  that  traced  the  edge 
of  the  cliff.  The  fog  was  dense,  and  there  was  just 
enough  wind  to  keep  it  drifting  in  from  the  sea. 
Darling  held  a  boat-hook  in  his  right  hand  and  kept 
his  eyes  and  ears  alert.  He  heard  a  dog  bark 
somewhere  in  front  of  him  in  the  whitish-gray  ob- 
scurity. Presently  he  came  to  where  the  path 
kinked  and  sloped  down  among  a  jumble  of  rocks, 
and  at  the  same  moment  he  caught  the  pungent, 
comforting  smell  of  wood-smoke  on  the  fog.  Then 
he  knew  that  Chance  Along  —  the  roof  which  shel- 
tered Flora  Lockhart  —  lay  hidden  and  dripping 
beneath  him.  He  was  about  to  commence  a  cau- 
tious descent  of  the  path,  when  a  clamor  of  voices 
drifted  up  to  him.  He  halted;  and  as  the  voices 
approached,  together  with  the  shuffle  of  climbing 
feet  and  the  creak  and  clatter  of  shouldered  boat- 
gear,  he  stepped  aside.  He  saw  the  yellow  blur  of 
a  lantern  and  immediately  took  up  a  position  behind 
a  great  boulder.  Bulky  forms  loomed  into  view 
at  the  top  of  the  slope,  broke  from  the  blanketing 
fog  for  a  moment,  one  by  one,  and  plunged  into 
it  again,  heading  southward  along  the  path.  The 


240  The  Harbor  Master 

big  fellow  in  the  lead  carried  the  lantern,  and  the 
man  at  his  elbow  was  talking  excitedly  as  they 
passed  within  an  oar's  length  of  Darling. 

"  I's  bin  watchin'  her  these  five  hours  back, 
skipper,  a-tryin'  to  beat  out  o'  the  drift  o'  wind 
an'  tide  widout  one  entire  mast  a-standin',"  he  said. 
"  She  wasn't  a  half-mile  off  the  rocks  when  I  left 
the  cove,  an'  a-firin'  of  her  gun  desperate.  If  she 
bain't  stuck  tight  now,  skipper,  then  me  name  bain't 
Tim  Leary." 

Mr.  Darling  stared  and  listened,  as  motionless 
as  the  boulder  against  which  he  leaned.  They 
issued  from  the  fog  and  were  engulfed  again  in  its 
clinging  folds  —  twenty-five  or  thirty  men  and  lads 
in  all.  Some  carried  coils  of  rope,  others  oars  and 
boat-hooks.  Several  of  them  hauled  empty  sledges 
at  their  heels.  The  back  of  the  last  man  vanished 
in  the  fog;  but  Mr.  Darling  remained  in  the  shelter 
of  the  rock  until  the  faintest  whisper  of  their  voices 
had  died  away  before  moving  hand  or  foot. 

"  Organized  wreckers,"  he  muttered.  "  And 
that  big  pirate  with  the  lantern  was  the  skipper  — 
the  brute  who  is  keeping  Flora  in  this  place!  By 
God  —  I  wonder  just  how  much  of  a  man,  and  how 
much  of  a  beast  he  is !  But  now  is  my  time,  while 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   241 

they're  all  off  waiting  for  another  wreck  to  come 
ashore  to  them  —  damn  them !  The  harbor  must 
be  about  empty  of  able-bodied  men  just  now." 

He  descended  the  twisting  path  cautiously.  The 
small  cabins  of  the  fishermen  presently  loomed 
around  him,  here  a  gray  gable,  there  a  dull  win- 
dow, there  an  unpainted  door  —  and  below  him  a 
roof  or  two  pushing  up  through  the  fog  from  a 
lower  terrace  of  the  village.  He  groped  his  way 
about,  pausing  frequently  to  peer  and  hearken. 
From  one  cabin  came  the  sound  of  a  child  crying 
angrily,  from  another  the  harsh  coughing  of  some 
very  old  person,  and  from  still  anoVher  the  whi- 
ning of  a  dog.  He  moved  to  the  left,  feeling  his 
way  gingerly  between  the  humble  dwellings.  A 
lighted  window  caught  his  attention,  and  then  a 
man's  voice,  with  a  whimsical  drawl  and  twang  to 
it,  raised  in  song. 

"  Her  eyes  were  like  the  sea  in  June, 
Her  lips  was  like  a  rose, 
Her  voice  was  like  a  fairy  bell 
A-ringin'  crost  the  snows. 
Then  Denny,  he  forgot  the  wrack, 
Forgot  the  waves  a-rollin', 
For  she  had  put  the  witchy  spell 
On  Skipper  Dennis  Nolan," 


242  The  Harbor  Master 

sang  the  voice  behind  the  blurred  yellow  square  of 
the  window. 

Darling  approached  the  window  on  tip-toe  and 
peered  through  the  dripping  glass.  He  saw  that 
the  vocalist  was  a  long,  thin  fellow,  with  long,  thin 
whiskers  and  a  wooden  leg,  seated  in  a  chair  by  a 
glowing  stove.  Two  candles  in  tarnished  brass 
sticks,  a  riddle  and  bow,  and  a  glass  half  full  of  red 
liquor  that  steamed,  were  on  the  corner  of  the  deal 
table  at  his  elbow.  Beside  him  stood  a  young 
woman,  long  limbed,  deep  breasted,  with  a  comely 
face  that  suggested  cheeriness,  but  was  now  drawn 
and  shadowed  a  little  round  the  mouth  and  eyes 
with  an  expression  of  care.  But  it  was  a  good 
face,  trustworthy,  kind  and  wise;  and  the  man  at 
the  window  trusted  it  the  moment  he  saw  it. 

"  I'll  risk  it,"  he  muttered.  "  The  old  man  looks 
harmless  enough  —  and  I  might  stumble  around 
here  until  the  fog  lifts  or  the  skipper  gets  back, 
without  so  much  as  a  word  with  Flora,  at  this  rate." 

He  withdrew  from  the  window  and  slid  quietly 
along  the  wall  of  the  cabin  until  he  found  the  door. 
He  pulled  the  glove  from  his  right  hand  and  rapped 
on  the  wet  planks  with  his  bare  knuckles.  The 
voice  of  the  man  with  the  wooden  leg  stopped  dead 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   243 

in  the  middle  of  a  line  and  shouted,  "  Come  in." 
Darling  lifted  the  latch,  pushed  the  door  half  open, 
and  stepped  swiftly  into  the  lighted  room,  closing 
the  door  smartly  behind  him.  The  man  and  the 
girl  stared  at  him  in  astonishment.  He  removed 
his  dripping  cap  from  his  head. 

"  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  can  find  Miss  Flora 
Lockhart?  "  he  asked. 

The  man  gasped  at  that,  and  the  girl's  gray  eyes 
brightened.  The  girl  stepped  forward,  placed  a 
strong,  eager  hand  on  his  arm  and  gazed  into  his 
face  without  apology  or  embarrassment.  Darling 
returned  the  scrutiny  unabashed. 

"Ye  be  from  up-along?"  she  queried.  "Ye 
be  a  friend  o'  Flora's  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Darling.  "  I  have  heard  that 
she  is  in  this  harbor  —  and  that  no  word  of  her 
being  here,  or  even  of  her  being  alive,  has  been 
sent  out.  Her  friends  believe  her  to  be  dead.  And 
I  heard  that  the  man  you  call  skipper  is  —  is  keep- 
ing her  against  her  will.  Of  course,  against  her 
will !  I  have  come  to  take  her  away  —  back  to  the 
world  in  which  she  belongs." 

"  Be  ye  alone,  sir?  "  asked  Pat  Kavanagh,  comb- 
ing his  beard  with  his  long,  lean  fingers. 


244  The  Harbor  Master 

Darling  frowned.  "  That's  as  may  be,"  he  said. 
"  Alone  or  not,  I'm  no  such  fool  as  to  tell  it  until 
I  know  how  I  stand  with  you;  but  I  am  armed, 
you  may  be  sure !  " 

"  Lad,"  said  Pat,  "  I  sees  as  how  ye  bes  young, 
an'  a  sailor  —  aye,  an'  bewitched,  too.  Sure,  I  was 
a  sailor  meself,  in  the  old  days.  I  likes  the  cut  o' 
yer  fore-sils,  lad,  an'  the  lines  o'  yer  hull,  so  I  tells 
ye,  man  to  man  like,  watch  out  for  the  skipper. 
Aye,  armed  or  empty-handed,  alone  or  wid  a  crew 
at  yer  back,  watch  out  for  Black  Dennis  Nolan.  He 
bes  a  grand  lad  in  his  own  way,  an'  ginerotis  an' 
fair  wid  his  friends  —  but  Saint  Peter  help  the  man 
who  hauls  acrost  his  bows !  If  ye've  come  to  Chance 
Along  to  take  the  girl  away  wid  ye,  then  get  hold 
o'  her  quick  an'  clear  out  wid  her  quick." 

"  I'll  take  ye  to  her,  sir,"  said  Mary,  eagerly. 
"  Come,  sir !  Come  along  wid  ye.  She  bes  at  the 
skipper's  own  house." 

"At  his  own  house?  So  I  heard,"  said  Dar- 
ling, thickly. 

"  Aye,"  said  Pat,  "  an'  safe  as  if  she  was  in 
church,  wid  Mother  Nolan  to  mind  her.  Sure,  an' 
Denny  Nolan  bain't  such  a  pirate  as  ye  t'inks,  sir. 
Lie  an'  curse  an'  fight  an'  wrack  he  will,  like  the 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   245 

divil  himself;  but  he  bes  a  decent  man  wid  the 
helpless,  accordin'  to  his  lights,  for  all  that.  Aye, 
cap'n,  till  she  bes  Denny  Nolan's  wife  she  kin  be 
any  man's  wife  —  if  he  bes  smart  enough  to  get 
her  out  o'  Chance  Along." 

"  Come  along  wid  me,  sir!  "  urged  Mary,  pulling 
at  Darling's  sleeve.  "  He  bes  out  o'  the  harbor 
now,  wid  all  the  crew.  Now  bes  yer  chance,  sir !  " 

She  had  thrown  a  shawl  over  her  head  and 
shoulders  while  her  father  was  talking;  and  now 
she  opened  the  door  and  led  the  sailor  into  the 
choking  fog  outside. 

"  Give  me  yer  hand,  sir,  an'  mind  yer  feet,"  she 
whispered.  And  then,  as  she  pressed  quickly  for- 
ward, leading  Darling  by  the  hand,  "  It  must  be 
the  saints  themselves  sent  ye  an'  the  fog  to  Chance 
Along  together,  sir  —  ye  an'  the  fog  an'  the  wrack 
they  all  bes  a-lookin'  out  for ! " 

"  Then  I  trust  the  saints  may  continue  their  good 
offices,"  said  Darling,  seriously. 

"Aye,  sir,  an'  why  not?"  she  returned.  "But 
here  we  be,  sir.  Mother  Nolan  an'  yer  lass  bes 
alone  in  the  house  together  this  minute ;  an'  Mother 
Nolan  will  not  be  sayin'  nay  to  yer  plans  o'  runnin' 
away." 


246  The  Harbor  Master 

She  opened  the  door  and  drew  Mr.  Darling 
after  her  into  the  lighted  kitchen.  "  Here  bes  yer 
help,  Flora  darlin',"  she  said.  "  An'  'twas  no  letter 
fetched  him,  ye  kin  lay  to  that,  but  the  drag  in 
his  own  heart  for  ye." 

Old  Mother  Nolan  looked  up  at  them  with  her 
snapping  black  eyes. 

"  Shut  the  door!  "  said  she.  "  D'ye  want  to  fill 
all  me  poor  old  bones  wid  misery?  " 

Mary  laughed  uncertainly  and  slammed  the 
door;  and  it  was  not  until  then  that  Flora  Lock- 
hart  moved  or  uttered  a  sound.  She  sprang  to  her 
feet,  her  clear  eyes  shining  like  stars. 

"Jack!  Mr.  Darling!"  she  cried.  "You  here? 
Have  you  come  for  me?" 

The  sailor's  heart  fairly  flooded  his  arteries  with 
joy  and  tenderness.  She  had  remembered  him  at  a 
glance  after  the  three  long  years!  She  had  called 
him  by  name!  Work,  ambition,  fame  and  disaster 
had  not  driven  out  the  memory  of  him. 

"  Yes,  I  have  come  for  you,"  he  said,  huskily. 
"  I  would  have  come  long  ago  if  I  had  known  - 
but  I  heard  of  it  only  by  chance  —  a  few  days 
ago.      Are   you    ready   to    come    away    with    me 
now  ?     We  must   hurry  —  for   I   fear  that   I   am 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   247 

not  strong  enough  to  risk  facing  your  jailer  — 
just  now." 

Mother  Nolan  threw  a  fur  coat  about  the  girl's 
shoulders. 

"  Aye,  she  bes  ready,"  said  the  old  woman. 
"  Mary,  snatch  her  things  together,  an'  carry  'em 
along.  Step  lively,  for  the  love  o'  heaven!  Have 
ye  a  boat,  lad?  Then  get  her  to  it  as  quick  as  ye 
kin,  an'  into  it,  an'  away  out  o'  Chance  Along  wid 
the  two  o'  ye  jist  as  quick  as  the  holy  saints  will 
let  ye!" 

John  Darling  fastened  the  great  coat  around 
Flora  with  trembling  fingers. 

"  To  find  you  here !  "  he  whispered.  "  And  yet 
you  seem  nearer  to  me  here  than  when  I  read  of 
you  —  of  your  glory  —  out  there  in  the  great 
world." 

Their  hands  touched.  Her  eyes  kindled  to  his, 
flame  for  flame,  throb  for  throb. 

"  I  am  glad  —  you  have  found  me,"  she  said. 
"  You  —  you  did  not  forget  me." 

At  that  moment  the  door  was  flung  open  and 
Black  Dennis  Nolan  sprang  into  the  room,  fol- 
lowed closely  by  Bill  Brennen  and  Nick  Leary. 
The  skipper  had  returned  to  the  harbor  because 


248  The  Harbor  Master 

the  ship  in  distress  had  drifted  clear  of  the  coast 
after  all,  and  was  even  now  firing  her  gun  and 
burning  her  flares  in  clear  water  directly  off  Chance 
Along.  Before  flinging  open  the  door  the  wreck- 
ers had  seen  through  the  window  what  was  taking 
place  in  the  kitchen. 

Flora  Lockhart  screamed  and  flung  her  arms 
around  John  Darling,  clinging  to  him  as  to  her 
only  hope  of  deliverance ;  and  before  he  could  pull 
himself  clear  of  her  and  draw  a  pistol  from  his 
pocket  the  infuriated  skipper  was  upon  him.  Nolan 
gripped  with  his  left  hand,  and  struck  with  his 
right  fist  and  his  whole  body;  but,  quick  as  thought, 
the  sailor  twisted,  ducked  and  gripped  the  other 
low  about  the  hips.  They  hurtled  across  the  room, 
collided  against  a  chair  and  crashed  to  the  floor 
with  Darling  on  top.  Bill  Brennen  plunged  for- 
ward to  help  Bis  master,  but  was  met  half-way  by 
old  Mother  Nolan,  who  twined  her  claws  in  his 
whiskers  and  hung  to  him  like  a  cat  to  a  curtain. 
Nick  Leary  was  about  to  settle  things  when  Mary 
Kavanagh  fell  upon  him  with  a  leg  of  the  broken 
chair.  Flora  alone  did  not  join  the  fray.  She  fell 
back  against  the  wall  and  covered  her  eyes  with  her 
hands. 


Mr.  Darling  Arrives  in  Chance  Along   249 

Things  were  at  a  deadlock,  with  the  chances 
good  for  Darling  to  break  away  from  the  dazed 
skipper  and  make  his  escape.  Bill  Brennen  was  of 
no  use,  for  he  could  not  strike  the  terrible  old 
woman  who  hung  to  his  whiskers  until  he  yelled 
with  the  pain  of  it.  Nick  lay  on  the  floor  with 
music  and  stars  in  his  head  and  conviction  that 
Mary  Kavanagh  (who  even  now  knelt  on  his  chest) 
was  a  grand  young  woman  entirely.  Then  young 
Cormick  entered,  took  in  the  vital  points  of  the 
situation  at  a  glance,  snatched  up  a  stick  of  fire- 
wood, and  jumped  for  the  corner  where  his 
brother  and  the  stranger  lay  clinched.  Flora  saw 
it  from  between  her  trembling  fingers.  She 
screamed  and  sprang  forward  with  out-flung  arms ; 
but  she  was  too  late.  The  boy  struck  once  with  the 
billet  —  and  the  fight  was  ended. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

MARY   KAVANAGH    USES    HER   WITS 

FOR  half  a  minute  the  skipper  was  mad  enough 
to  kill  the  unconscious  sailor  with  his  hands  and 
feet;  but  Mother  Nolan  and  Mary  Kavanagh  to- 
gether were  equal  to  the  task  of  holding  him  and 
bringing  him  to  a  glimmering  of  reason.  Mother 
Nolan's  tongue  did  not  spare  him,  even  as  her 
fingers  had  not  spared  poor,  loyal  Bill  Brennen's 
whiskers. 

"  Would  ye  be  murderin'  him?  "she  cried.  "  An' 
him  helpless  —  aye,  an'  a  better  man  nor  ye  be 
yerself,  Denny  Nolan.  Then  ye  be  no  blood  an' 
kin  to  me,  ye  great  murderer!  Didn't  he  land  ye 
on  the  flat  o'  yer  great  back,  ye  limb,  though  ye 
took  him  all  suddant  an'  unawares?  Sure,  he  did! 
Kill  him,  then;  an'  'twill  be  your  own  father's 
mother  goes  to  St.  John's  to  bring  the  police  to 
hang  ye  up  by  yer  cowardly  neck.  Aye,  ye  kin  lay 
to  that!  What  old  Kate  Nolan  says  she  says,  an' 
the  divil  himself  couldn't  make  a  liar  of  her!  "  • 

250 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      251 

"  I  thought  ye  was  a  man,  Denny,  an'  fought  like 
a  man,"  said  Mary  Kavanagh,  in  a  low  voice  that 
shook  with  unuttered  sobs;  "  but  if  ye  strikes  him 
now,  a-layin'  there  as  harmless  as  a  swile,  then  I'll 
know  ye  for  a  coward  an'  a  murderer." 

The  skipper  looked  down  at  Flora  Lockhart,  who 
knelt  above  Darling,  weeping  bitterly.  His  black 
eyes  glowed  and  his  face  twisted  and  paled. 

"  If  it  had  bin  meself  hit  the  blow  that  downed 
him,  then  I'd  be  finishin'  him,"  he  said,  "  but  I  don't 
kill  where  I  don't  down !  I  bain't  no  coward,  Mary 
Kavanagh,  as  well  ye  knows!  Bes  there  any  more 
o'  the  likes  of  him  a-sneakin'  'round  me  own  har- 
bor?" 

"  He  come  alone,"  said  Mary.  "  He  come  alone, 
to  find  the  girl  ye've  bin  hidin'  an'  holdin'  in  Chance 
Along  till  all  her  folks  thinks  she  bes  dead." 

"  Sure,  then,  he  found  her,"  snarled  the  skipper, 
"  an'  little  good  'twill  be  doin'  him !  " 

"  Shame  upon  ye,  Denny  Nolan !  "  exclaimed  the 
old  woman.  "  Shame  upon  ye  an'  yer  lies  an'  yer 
wicked,  silly  heart  that  t'ought  to  keep  the  likes  o' 
her  forever  in  Chance  Along.  Ye  bain't  able  to 
fool  old  Kate  Nolan  wid  yer  lies!  Sure,  wasn't 
I  on  to  ye  from  the  minute  ye  come  home  that  ye'd 


252  The  Harbor  Master 

not  bin  to  Witless  Bay  wid  the  letter?  I  seed  the 
lie  writ  across  yer  face,  Denny  Nolan.  Shame  upon 
ye  to  be  tryin'  to  bury  the  poor  helpless  girl 
alive!" 

"  Pick  him  up,"  said  the  skipper,  sullenly. 
"  There  bes  grub  enough  an'  to  spare  to  feed  him 
an'  a  hundred  like  him.  Heave  him  up  atvveen  ye, 
men,  an'  we'll  be  lockin'  of  him  up  in  a  safe  place. 
Fetch  along  the  lantern,  Cormy,  lad." 

John  Darling  opened  his  eyes  at  this  moment, 
stared  dizzily  around  him  and  struggled  up  to  one 
elbow. 

"  Flora!  "  he  cried.     "  Flora,  where  are  you?  " 

The  girl  tried  to  go  to  him,  but  the  skipper  held 
her.  Bill  Brennen  pressed  the  sailor  back,  and  tied 
his  wrists  and  ankles. 

"  Who  carried  the  letter  out  to  him  ?  "  demanded 
the  skipper,  gripping  the  girl's  shoulders  with  his 
great  hands,  and  glaring  down  into  her  colorless 
face.  For  answer,  she  wrenched  herself  away,  and 
struck  him  a  stinging  blow  across  the  mouth  with 
her  right  hand. 

"  How  dare  you?  "  she  cried.  "  How  dare  you 
lay  hands  on  me?  I  despise  you,  you  brute!  " 

He  stepped  back,   his   face  crimson,   his  mouth 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      253 

twitching,  all  the  fire  and  mastery  gone  from  his 
eyes.  He  had  thought,  poor  fool,  that  she  was 
learning  to  care  for  him;  for  of  late,  in  her  game 
of  self-defence,  she  had  treated  him  with  evident 
consideration  and  many  little  attentions  of  the  voice 
and  eyes.  And  now  he  understood.  He  saw  the 
truth  in  every  flash  of  her  eyes,  in  every  line  of 
brow,  mouth  and  chin.  He  turned,  took  the  lan- 
tern from  Cormick  and  strode  from  the  house,  with 
Bill  and  Nick  and  their  prisoner  at  his  heels. 

"  Go  down  to  the  land-wash  an'  spy  'round  for 
his  boat,"  he  said  to  Cormick.  "  Turn  out  a  couple 
o'  men  to  help  ye  hunt  for  it  —  an'  maybe  ye'll  find 
some  more  o'  these  sneakin'  robbers  hangin'  'round 
the  harbor." 

They  carried  Darling  to  the  store,  the  skipper 
leading  the  way,  and  his  trusties  swinging  and  hoist- 
ing their  helpless  burden  by  heels  and  shoulders. 
They  dropped  him  on  the  cold  floor  as  if  he  had 
no  more  feelings  than  a  sack  of  hard  bread. 

"  That  bes  all,  lads,"  said  the  skipper.  "  Go  help 
hunt  for  the  boat  now  an*  shut  the  door  behind  ye. 
I'll  jist  be  sayin'  a  few  words  to  this  dirty  spy  afore 
I  leaves  him  to  his  dreams." 

Brennen  and  Leary  turned  and  left  the   store 


254  The  Harbor  Master 

without  a  word.  They  felt  vaguely  uneasy,  as  if 
the  great  world  of  up-along  had  at  last  found  them 
out,  and  reached  a  menacing  hand  into  their  snug 
harbor.  Would  the  skipper  be  able  to  deal  with 
so  vast  an  enemy?  If  he  killed  this  stranger  it 
would  mean  hanging  by  the  neck,  sooner  or  later 
—  perhaps  for  every  man  in  the  harbor?  If  he  let 
him  live,  and  held  him  a  prisoner,  it  would  bring 
the  law  prying  into  their  affairs,  some  time  or  other. 
Doubt  chilled  them.  They  stumbled  heavily  away 
in  the  darkness. 

The  skipper  held  the  lantern  to  his  captive's  face 
and  regarded  him  with  wolfish,  sneering  attention. 
Soon  the  sneer  faded  a  little. 

"  Fs  seed  ye  afore,"  he  said.  "  Aye,  sure  as  hell, 
I's  seed  ye  afore !  " 

"  And  this  is  not  the  first  time  I've  seen  your 
ugly  mug,  either,"  returned  Darling.  "  I  saw  you 
the  night  the  Durham  Castle  came  ashore  on  this 
coast  —  the  night  you  robbed  the  captain  and  the 
passengers.  Well,  what  are  you  going  to  do  about 
it?" 

"  Ye'll  larn  that  soon  enough,"  returned  the 
other.  "  Did  ye  get  a  letter  from  —  from  her  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  Darling,  unable  to  see  any  danger 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      255 

in  telling  the  truth  of  that  matter.  "  No,  I  didn't 
get  any  letter.  I  met  a  friend  of  yours  in  St.  John's, 
and  he  told  me  a  great  deal  about  you,  and  the  game 
you  are  playing  in  this  harbor  —  and  also  about  her. 
Your  friend's  name  is  Dick  Lynch." 

"  Dick  Lynch,"  repeated  the  skipper,  quietly. 
"  I'll  be  cuttin'  the  heart  out  o'  that  dog  yet !  " 

"  And  a  good  job,  no  doubt,"  said  Darling. 
"  But  I  warn  you,  my  man,  that  if  you  injure 
Miss  Lockhart  in  any  way  -you'll  curse  the  day 
you  first  saw  daylight.  You'll  be  burned  out  of  here 
like  the  dirty,  murdering  pirate  that  you  are  — 
you  and  your  whole  crew.  The  law  will  have  you, 
my  man  —  it  will  have  you  by  the  neck.  Do  you 
think  I  risked  coming  to  this  place  without  leaving 
word  behind  me  of  where  I  was  bound  for  and  what 
I  was  after  ?  " 

"  Now  ye  be  lyin',"  said  the  skipper,  coolly.  "  Ye 
telled  the  truth  about  Dick  Lynch;  but  now  ye  lie. 
Don't  ye  try  to  fool  wid  me,  damn  ye!  Ye  come 
to  Chance  Along  widout  leavin'  a  word  behind  ye. 
I  sees  the  lie  in  yer  face." 

"  I  left  Dick  Lynch  behind  me,"  said  the  sailor. 

That  shook  the  skipper's  assurance;  but  he  was 
in  no  mood  to  feel  fear  for  more  than  a  moment. 


256  The  Harbor  Master 

He  laughed  sneeringly  and  began  to  unload  his  cap- 
tive's pockets.  He  took  out  the  pistols,  admired 
them  and  laid  them  aside.  Next,  he  unearthed  a 
few  cakes  of  hard  bread,  a  small  flask  of  brandy, 
and  a  pipe  and  half  a  plug  of  tobacco. 

"  How'd  ye  come  to  Chance  Along,  anyhow  ? 
Where  bes  yer  boat  ?  "  he  asked,  suddenly,  pausing 
in  his  work. 

"  I  walked  across  from  Witless  Bay,"  said  Dar- 
ling. 

"  Where  bes  yer  boat  ?  "  asked  the  other. 

"  In  Witless  Bay,  you  fool !  Do  you  think  I 
carried  it  across  my  back?  " 

The  skipper  swung  the  lantern  back  and  glanced 
at  the  soles  of  the  other's  boots. 

"  Ye  bes  a  liar  —  and  a  desperate  poor  one  at 
that,"  he  said.  "  Where  bes  yer  boat  ?  " 

John  Darling  lost  his  temper.  He  disliked  being 
forced  into  telling  a  lie  —  and,  being  human,  he 
disliked  still  more  to  have  the  lie  discovered  and 
the  effort  wasted. 

"  Go  to  hell  and  find  it,  you  black-faced  pirate!  " 
he  roared. 

The  skipper  stopped,  glared  down  at  him,  and 
swung  his  right  hand  back  for  a  blow. 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      257 

"  Hit  away,  I'm  tied,"  said  the  other,  without 
flinching. 

The  skipper  let  his  hand  sink  to  his  side. 

"  I  don't  hit  a  tied  man.  That  hain't  my  way," 
he  said,  flushing  darkly. 

"  Untie  me,  then,  and  you  can  hit  all  you  want 
to.  Cut  these  ropes  and  let  me  at  you.  Come  now, 
for  I  see  that  you  have  some  sense  of  manliness  in 
you,  after  all." 

"  Not  jist  now.  To-morrow,  maybe  —  or  maybe 
next  day  —  I'll  fight  ye.  And,  by  hell,  when  I  do 
I'll  kill  ye  wid  me  two  hands!  " 

"  I'll  take  the  chance.  Unless  you  starve  me  or 
cripple  me  in  the  meantime,  I'll  knock  the  everlast- 
ing life  out  of  you." 

The  skipper  growled  and  took  up  his  interrupted 
work  of  investigating  the  other's  pockets.  He  un- 
buttoned the  heavy  reefer  and  thrust  a  hand  into 
an  inner  pocket.  In  a  second  he  withdrew  it,  hold- 
ing the  little  casket  bound  in  red  leather.  A  cry 
of  astonishment  escaped  him.  He  pressed  the 
catch  with  his  thumb  and  the  diamonds  and 
rubies  flashed  and  glowed  beneath  his  dazzled 
eyes. 

"Me  own  diamonds!"  he  cried.     "Holy  saints 


258  The  Harbor  Master 

alive,  me  own  diamonds!  Where'd  ye  find  'em? 
Tell  me  that,  now  —  where'd  ye  find  'em?  " 

Darling  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  Then, 
speaking  quietly  and  somewhat  bitterly,  he  said, 
"If  you  really  want  to  know,  I  found  them  on  a 
dead  man,  under  the  cliff  a  few  miles  to  the  north 
of  here." 

"  That  would  be  Foxey  Jack  Quinn,"  said  the 
skipper.  He  closed  the  box  and  put  it  in  his  pocket, 
then  took  up  the  lantern  and  went  out,  locking  the 
door  behind  him. 

In  the  meantime,  Mary  Kavanagh  had  not  been 
idle.  She  felt  sure  that  the  stranger  was  safe  from 
bodily  harm  for  the  night  at  least,  now  that  Dennis 
had  shaken  off  the  first  blind  deviltry  of  his  rage. 
She  knew  Dennis  almost  as  well  as  old  Mother 
Nolan  did;  and  to-night  she  felt  sorry  for  him  as 
well  as  angry  with  him.  Leaving  Flora  in  Mother 
Nolan's  care,  she  left  the  house,  and  followed  Cor- 
mick  and  the  others  down  to  the  land-wash.  The 
fog  was  thinning  swiftly;  but  night  had  fallen,  and 
the  sky,  sea  and  land  were  all  black  as  tar.  She 
soon  learned  that  no  sign  of  the  stranger's  boat 
could  be  found  in  the  harbor.  Returning  from  the 
land-wash,  she  met  Nick  Leary. 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      259 

"  How  bes  ye  a-feelin'  now  ? "  she  asked,  not 
unkindly.  "  But  it  served  ye  right,  Nick.  A  great 
man  like  ye  has  no  call  to  be  fightin'  wid  women." 

"  Me  poor  head  buzzes  like  a  nest  o'  wasps  whin 
ye  pokes  it  wid  a  club,"  said  Nick.  "  Sure,  Mary, 
'twas  a  sweet  tap  ye  give  me !  Marry  me,  girl,  an' 
ye'll  be  free  to  bat  me  every  day  o'  yer  born  life." 

"  Sure,  an'  'twould  do  ye  no  harm,"  said  Mary. 
And  then,  "  So  ye've  shut  the  poor  lad  in  the  store, 
have  ye?  " 

"Aye,  but  how'd  ye  know  it,  Mary?" 

"  I  didn't  know  it,  Nick,  till  ye  telled  me.  Now 
go  on  wid  yer  business  o'  huntin'  for  the  boat  an' 
I'll  be  goin'  on  wid  mine.  An'  thanks  for  yer  offer, 
lad;  but  sure  I'll  never  marry  a  man  I  kin  knock 
down  wid  the  leg  o'  a  chair." 

Nick  seemed  to  be  in  no  mood  to  accept  this  state- 
ment as  final;  but  the  girl  soon  cleared  her  tracks 
of  him  in  the  inky  darkness,  among  the  little  houses. 
She  climbed  the  path  to  the  edge  of  the  barren  and 
turned  northward.  From  what  she  had  seen  of 
John  Darling  she  felt  sure  that  he  was  no  fool; 
and  therefore  she  had  not  expected  to  find  his  boat 
in  the  harbor.  He  had  told  Mother  Nolan  that  he 
had  a  boat,  but  had  not  mentioned  its  whereabouts. 


260  The  Harbor  Master 

Mary  decided  that  it  was  hidden  somewhere  handy 
to  the  harbor;  and  she  was  inclined  to  think  that 
it  was  manned.  He  had  come  from  the  north,  of 
course;  therefore  the  chances  were  good  that  he 
had  left  his  boat  somewhere  to  the  north  of  the 
harbor.  She  knew  every  hollow,  break  and  out- 
thrust  of  that  coast  for  miles  as  well  as  she  knew 
the  walls  and  floors  of  her  father's  cabin.  A 
thought  of  the  little  drook  came  to  her  mind  and 
she  quickened  her  steps  along  the  path.  The  light 
wind  was  shifting  and  the  fog  was  trailing  coast- 
wise to  the  south  before  it.  Mary  noted  this,  sniffed 
at  the  air,  which  was  slowly  but  surely  changing  in 
quality,  and  looked  up  at  the  black  sky. 

"  There'll  be  snow  afore  mornin',"  she  said. 

When  she  reached  the  head  of  the  drook  she 
halted  and  gave  ear.  The  sloshing  and  lapping  of 
the  tide  came  up  to  her;  and  that  was  all  for  a 
minute  or  two.  She  parted  the  alders  and  young 
birches  with  her  hands,  very  cautiously,  and  moved 
downward  into  the  thicket  for  a  distance  of  three 
or  four  yards,  then  halted  again  and  again  listened. 
At  last,  above  the  noises  of  the  tide  and  almost 
smothered  by  them,  she  heard  a  sound  unmistakably 
human  —  a  violent  sneeze.  For  a  little  while  she 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      261 

remained  quiet,  daunted  by  the  darkness  and  trying 
to  consider  the  risks  she  was  about  to  take.  But 
the  risks  could  not  be  considered,  for  they  were 
absolutely  unknown.  She  was  playing  for  peace 
and  justice,  however  —  yes,  and  for  Denny  Nolan's 
happiness.  Mastering  her  fear,  she  whistled  softly. 
After  a  minute's  silence  a  guarded  voice  replied  to 
the  whistle. 

"Be  that  yerself,  sir?"  inquired  the  voice  from 
the  blackness  below. 

She  descended  lower,  parting  the  tangled  growth 
before  her  with  her  hands. 

"  I  bes  a  friend  —  an'  a  woman,"  she  said.  "  I 
comes  wid  a  word  for  ye,  from  him." 

"  Stand  where  ye  bes ! "  commanded  George 
Wicks,  his  voice  anxious  and  suspicious.  "  What 
the  divil  bes  the  trouble  now  ?  Stand  where  ye  bes 
an'  tell  me  the  word." 

"  I  bes  all  alone,  so  help  me  Peter! "  replied  the 
girl,  "  an'  it  bain't  safe  the  way  we  bes  talkin'  now, 
up  an'  down  the  drook.  The  lads  o'  the  harbor 
may  be  comin'  this  way  an'  a-hearin'  us  —  an'  then 
ye'll  bes  in  as  bad  a  way  as  the  captain  himself.  Let 
me  come  down  to  ye.  Bes  ye  afeared  o'  one  lone 
woman  ?  " 


262  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Come  down  wid  ye,  then,"  said  George,  his 
voice  none  too  steady,  "  but  I  warns  ye  as  how  I 
hes  a  lantern  here  an'  a  pistol,  an'  if  ye  bain't  all 
alone  by  yerself  I'll  shoot  ye  like  a  swile  an'  ax 
ye  yer  business  afterwards.  Fs  heard  queer  t'ings 
o'  Chance  Along! " 

"  I  bes  alone,"  returned  Mary,  "  an'  if  ye  fires 
yer  pistol  at  me  then  ye  bes  a  dirty  coward." 

As  she  spoke  she  continued  her  difficult  way  down 
the  channel  of  the  drook.  She  saw  the  yellow  gleam 
of  the  lantern  between  the  snarled  stems  of  the 
bushes.  Strong,  clear-headed  and  brave  as  she  was, 
she  began  now  to  sob  quietly  with  fright;  yet  she 
continued  to  push  her  way  down  the  drook. 

"  They  —  they  has  caught  the  captain,"  she  said, 
brokenly,  "  an'  now  they  bes  huntin'  all  'round  the 
harbor  for  his  boat.  I  has  — come  to  tell  ye  —  an' 
to  help  ye." 

George  Wick  parted  the  bushes,  raised  his  lan- 
tern and  peered  up  at  her. 

"  There  bain't  no  call  for  ye  to  be  cryin',"  he 
said,  in  a  changed  voice.  "  If  ye  means  no  treach- 
ery, lass,  then  I'll  not  be  hurtin'  ye." 

She  stood  beside  him ;  and  as  he  stared  at  her 
by  the  yellow  light  of  the  lantern  all  thought  of 


Mary  Kavanagh  Uses  Her  Wits      263 

treachery  from  that  quarter  faded  away.  His  heart 
warmed  and  got  a  trifle  out  of  hand.  He  could 
scarcely  believe  his  senses,  and  for  a  moment  forgot 
John  Darling  and  the  queer  stories  he  had  heard  of 
Chance  Along.  All  he  realized  was  that  his  eyes 
and  the  lantern  told  him  that  the  finest  looking  girl 
he  had  ever  seen  had  come  down  the  drook,  all  of 
her  own  free  will,  to  pay  him  a  visit. 

"  The  skipper  caught  him  an'  tied  him  up  in  the 
store,"  whispered  Mary,  "  an'  now  all  the  men  in 
the  harbor  bes  searchin'  for  the  boat."  Then  she 
told  the  story  of  Flora  Lockhart,  and  disclosed  a 
plan  for  outwitting  the  skipper  that  had  just  come 
to  her  mind. 

"  Sure,  ye  bes  a  wonder,"  said  George,  who  was 
as  clay  in  her  hands.  "  Aye,  we'll  be  putting  the 
comather  on  to  Black  Denny  Nolan,  ye  kin  lay  to 
that!  Sure,  it  be  a  grand  idee  altogether!  " 

So  they  unloaded  the  bully  and  hid  everything 
among  the  bushes. 

"  Now  you  must  lay  low,"  cautioned  Mary,  "  an' 
I'll  bring  yer  bully  back  to  ye  as  soon  as  I  kin  — 
or  maybe  one  o'  the  skipper's  bullies  in  its  place. 
Anyhow,  I'll  get  to  see  ye  agin  to-morrow  night. 
Lay  low,  now,  an'  don't  be  lightin'  a  fire." 


264  The  Harbor  Master 

As  she  stepped  aboard  the  bully  George's  mind 
cleared  a  little. 

"  Ye  bain't  playin'  any  tricks  on  me,  I  do  hope," 
he  whispered.  "  Ye  wouldn't  be  leavin'  me  here 
all  alone  by  meself  forever,  widout  me  bully  even, 
would  ye  now  ?  " 

"  Ye  kin  trust  me,"  said  Mary.  Then  she  shoved 
off  into  the  darkness. 

Half  an  hour  later  the  keel  of  the  bully  touched 
the  land-wash  in  the  sheltered  harbor  of  Chance 
Along.  Mary  Kavanagh  stepped  ashore,  laid  the 
oar  noiselessly  inboard  and  set  the  bully  adrift,  and 
then  made  her  cautious  way  up  and  into  her  father's 
cabin.  Snow  began  to  fall  thickly  and  silently  as 
she  closed  the  door. 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

MOTHER   NOLAN   DOES   SOME   SPYING 

JOHN  DARLING  was  sore,  hungry  and  cold;  but 
his  heart  was  joyful  and  strong.  He  had  been 
knocked  over  the  head,  and  he  had  been  robbed  of 
the  newly-recovered  necklace  and  the  reward  of  a 
thousand  pounds;  but  he  had  found  Flora,  alive, 
evidently  not  ill-treated  and  not  in  any  real  danger 
save  of  oblivion,  and  with  the  memory  of  him  clear 
in  her  heart.  He  had  failed  to  get  her  away  from 
the  harbor;  but  he  felt  convinced  that  a  way  of 
escape  for  both  of  them  would  soon  occur.  He  did 
not  fear  Black  Dennis  Nolan.  The  fellow  was  a 
man,  after  all.  He  knew  that  if  he  should  come 
to  any  serious  physical  injury  at  the  skipper's  hands 
it  would  be  in  a  fair  fight.  Also,  he  knew  that 
Mother  Nolan  and  Mary  Kavanagh  were  on  his 
side  —  were  as  anxious  to  get  Flora  out  of  the  har- 
bor as  he  was  to  take  her  out.  But  the  planks  upon 
which  he  lay  were  as  cold  and  hard  as  ice;  and  at 
last  he  began  to  wonder  if  even  his  splendid  con- 

266 


266  The  Harbor  Master 

stitution  would  stand  a  night  of  this  exposure,  bound 
hand  and  foot,  without  serious  results.  He  lay 
awake  for  hours,  suffering  in  body  but  rejoicing  in 
heart.  At  last,  numb  with  cold,  he  sank  into  a  half- 
doze.  He  was  aroused  by  sounds  at  the  door  —  the 
cry  of  a  key  turning  an  unoiled  lock  and  the  creak 
of  rusty  hinges.  Then  the  welcome  gleam  of  a 
lantern  flooded  to  him  along  the  frosty  floor.  The 
visitor  was  Bill  Brennen.  He  stooped  above  the 
sailor  and  squinted  at  him  curiously.  Under  his 
left  arm  he  carried  a  caribou  skin  and  several  blan- 
kets. 

"  Lad,"  said  he,  "  ye  must  be  full  o'  the  divil's 
own  ginger  to  cross  the  skipper  as  ye  done.  Sure 
an'  the  wonder  bes  why  he  didn't  kill  ye  dead! 
But  now  that  ye  still  be  alive,  him  not  killin'  ye 
in  the  first  flush,  ye  bes  safe  as  Mother  Nolan  her- 
self. A  divil  o'  a  woman  that,  entirely.  Saints  in 
glory,  me  whiskers  still  aches  desperate!  Here  bes 
a  grand  rug  for  ye  to  lay  on,  an'  blankets  to  cover 
yerself  wid.  The  skipper  sent  'em.  Kill  a  man 
he  will,  in  fair  fight;  but  it  bain't  in  his  nature 
to  let  any  man  go  cold  nor  hungry  in  Chance 
Along." 

He  spread  the  caribou  skin  and  one  of  the  blan- 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   267 

kets  on  the  floor  and  rolled  John  Darling  on  to 
them.  Then  he  threw  two  more  blankets  over  him 
and  tucked  them  in.  Next,  he  produced  a  flask 
from  his  pocket  and  uncocked  it. 

"  Skipper's  orders,"  he  said,  and  held  the  flask 
to  the  helpless  one's  lips. 

"  Now  ye  bes  as  snug  as  any  marchant,  what 
wid  yer  grand  bed  an'  yer  drop  o'  fine  liquor  in 
yer  belly,"  he  remarked.  He  turned  at  the  door 
and  said,  "  Some  one  will  be  bringin'  ye  grub  in 
the  mornin'.  Good  night  to  ye." 

From  that  until  morning,  the  prisoner  on  the 
floor,  bound  at  wrist  and  ankle,  rested  more  peace- 
fully than  Black  Dennis  Nolan  in  his  father's  bed; 
for  the  sailor  was  only  sore  in  his  muscles  and 
bones,  but  the  skipper  ached  in  heart  and  soul.  The 
skipper  tossed  through  the  black  hours,  reasoning 
against  reason,  hoping  against  hopelessness.  The 
girl  hated  him  and  despised  him!  Twist  and  turn 
as  he  might,  he  could  not  escape  from  this  convic- 
tion. Now  he  even  doubted  the  power  of  the  dia- 
monds and  rubies  to  win  her,  having  seen  that  in 
her  eyes  which  had  brought  all  his  dreams  crum- 
bling to  choking  dust.  Pain  had  laid  the  devil  of 
fury  in  him  and  aroused  the  imp  of  stubbornness. 


268  The  Harbor  Master 

He  would  wait  and  watch.  He  was  safe  to  keep 
them  both  in  the  harbor  until  the  arrival  of  Father 
McQueen,  in  June;  and  perhaps,  by  that  time,  he 
would  see  some  way  of  winning  the  girl.  Should 
the  necklace  of  diamonds  and  rubies  fail  to  impress 
the  girl,  then  he  might  bribe  John  Darling  with  it 
to  leave  the  harbor.  You  see,  the  workings  of  the 
skipper's  mind  were  as  primitive  as  his  methods  of 
coping  with  mutineers. 

The  skipper  left  his  bed  and  the  house  at  the 
first  gray  of  dawn,  determined  to  search  the  coast 
high  and  low  for  a  solution  of  the  mystery  of  the 
stranger's  arrival.  He  went  down  between  the 
silent  cabins,  all  roofed  with  new  snow,  and  the 
empty  snow-trimmed  stages,  and  looked  out  upon 
the  little  harbor.  What  was  that,  just  at  the  edge 
of  the  shadow  of  the  rock  to  the  right  of  the  nar- 
row passage?  —  a  boat,  lump  of  wreckage  or  a 
shadow?  Stare  as  he  would,  he  could  not  deter- 
mine the  nature  of  the  thing  in  that  faint  and  elfin 
twilight;  but  it  drew  his  eye  and  aroused  his  curi- 
osity as  no  natural  shadow  of  any  familiar  rock 
could  have  done.  He  dragged  a  skiff  from  under 
one  of  the  stages  and  launched  it  into  the  quiet 
harbor  and  with  a  single  oar  over  the  stern  sculled 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   269 

out  toward  the  black  object  on  the  steel-gray  tide. 
It  proved  to  be  a  fine  bully,  empty  and  with  the 
frozen  painter  hanging  over  the  bow  and  trailing 
alongside. 

"  So  this  bes  how  he  come  to  Chance  Along  — 
an'  not  man  enough  to  moor  his  boat  safe !  "  ex- 
claimed the  skipper. 

The  bully  was  as  empty  as  on  the  day  it  had  been 
built,  save  for  one  oar  lying  across  the  thwarts. 
Not  even  a  spar  and  sail  were  aboard  her.  The 
man  must  be  an  absolute  fool  to  set  out  along  a 
dangerous  coast,  in  a  bad  time  of  year,  single- 
handed  and  without  grub  or  gear,  reflected  the  skip- 
per. The  thought  that  such  a  bungler  as  this  stran- 
ger should  be  preferred  to  himself,  intensified  his 
pangs  of  humiliation.  No  girl  who  understood  such 
things  —  no  girl  of  that  coast  —  would  treat  him 
so,  he  reflected,  bitterly.  He  pulled  the  dripping 
painter  aboard  the  skiff,  made  it  fast  around  a 
thwart  and  towed  the  bully  ashore. 

Mary  Kavanagh  had  been  astir  as  early  as  the 
skipper  himself.  She  had  gone  first  to  the  store. 
Peering  through  a  window,  she  had  made  out  the 
stranger's  form  on  the  floor,  bulkily  blanketed. 
From  the  store,  she  hastened  to  the  skipper's  house, 


270  The  Harbor  Master 

saw  his  footprints  pointing  toward  the  land-wash, 
and  stood  with  her  hand  on  the  latch  until  a  skiff 
slid  out  into  her  line  of  vision  from  behind  the 
drying-stages.  She  knew  that  the  skipper  was  on 
his  way  to  investigate  the  derelict  bully.  She  opened 
the  door  then,  entered  quietly  and  went  to  Mother 
Nolan's  room.  The  old  woman  was  sitting  up  in 
bed  with  her  nightcap  a-tilt  over  one  ear. 

"  Saints  alive,  Mary,  what  mischief  bes  afoot 
now  ?  "  asked  Mother  Nolan. 

Mary  drew  close  to  the  bed-side  and  leaned  over 
to  her  confederate. 

"  The  captain  bes  safe  in  the  store,  all  rolled  up 
in  blankets,"  she  whispered,  "  an'  —  an'  I  larned 
something  last  night  that  means  as  how  we  kin  get 
'em  both  away  before  long,  wid  luck.  An'  I  played 
a  trick  on  the  skipper  —  so  don't  ye  bes  worryin' 
when  he  tells  ye  as  how  he's  found  the  captain's 
boat.  Give  the  word  to  the  lass  to  keep  her  heart 
up.  Sure,  we'll  be  gettin'  the  two  o'  them  safe  out 
o'  the  harbor  yet." 

"An'  where  bes  Denny  now?  How'd  ye  get 
into  the  house?  "  asked  the  old  woman. 

"  He  bes  out  in  a  skiff  this  very  minute,  a-lookin' 
at  the  captain's  boat  where  it  bes  driftin'  'round 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   271 

the  harbor.  Sure,  an'  that  bes  just  where  I  wants 
him.  An'  now  I'll  be  goin',  Mother  Nolan  dear, 
for  I  bain't  wishin'  Denny  to  catch  me  here  a-whis- 
perin'  t'ye  so  early  in  the  mornin'  or  maybe  he'd  get 
the  idea  into  his  head  as  how  us  two  women  bain't 
such  harmless  fools  as  what  he's  always  bin  takin' 
us  for." 

"  Ye  bes  a  fine  girl,  Mary  Kavanagh,"  returned 
Mother  Nolan,  "  an'  I  trusts  ye  to  clear  this  harbor 
o'  trouble.  I'll  be  tellin'  the  good  word  to  the  poor 
lass  inside  this  very  minute.  Her  heart  bain't  all 
diamonds  an'  pride,  after  all,  as  she  let  us  know 
last  night,  poor  dear." 

Mary  left  them,  and  a  minute  later  met  the  skip- 
per on  his  way  up  from  the  land-wash. 

"  I's  found  the  boat  the  stranger  come  in,"  said 
the  skipper. 

"  Sure,  an'  so  ye  would,  Denny,  if  it  was  to  be 
found,"  replied  Mary. 

The  young  man  eyed  her  gloomily  and  inquir- 
ingly until  she  blushed  and  turned  her  face  away 
from  him. 

"  Ye  talks  fair,  Mary,"  he  said.  "  Ye  talks  as  if 
ye  was  a  friend  o'  mine;  but  ye  bain't  always  actin' 
that  same  way,  these  days.  Last  night,  now,  ye 


272  The  Harbor  Master 

an'  granny  was  sure  fightin'  agin  me!  I  seed  ye 
bat  Nick  Leary  wid  the  leg  o'  the  chair  —  an'  I 
seed  that  dacent  old  woman  a-hangin'  to  Bill  Bren- 
nen's  whiskers  like  a  wildcat  to  the  moss  on  a 
tree." 

"  An'  why  not,  Denny  Nolan  ?  "  retorted  the  girl. 
"  Ye  t'ree  men  was  after  murderin'  that  poor  lad ! 
D'ye  think  Mother  Nolan  was  wantin'  to  see  ye 
carried  off  to  St.  John's  an'  hung  by  yer  neck? 
Sure,  we  was  fightin'  agin  ye.  What  hurt  had  that 
poor  lad  ever  done  to  ye?  He  come  to  Chance 
Along  for  his  lass  —  an'  sure,  she  was  ready  enough 
to  be  goin'  away  wid  him !  " 

The  skipper's  face  darkened.  "  Who  saved  her 
life  from  the  wrack?"  he  cried.  "Tell  me  that, 
will  ye!  Who  salvaged  her  from  the  foretop  o' 
the  wrack  ?  " 

Without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  brushed  past 
Mary  and  strode  up  to  his  house.  The  girl  stood 
motionless  for  a  little  while,  gazing  after  him  with 
a  flushed  face,  twitching  lips  and  a  flicker  of  amuse- 
ment in  her  gray  eyes. 

"  Poor  Denny,"  she  murmured.  "  His  pride  bes 
hurt  more  nor  the  heart  of  him !  " 

John  Darling  was  not  honored  by  a  visit  from 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   273 

the  skipper  that  day ;  but  Bill  Brennen  carried  food 
to  him,  made  up  a  fire  in  the  stove,  and  even  loosed 
his  bonds  for  a  few  minutes  upon  receiving  his  word 
of  honor  that  he  would  not  take  advantage  of  the 
kindness  by  trying  to  escape. 

"What  does  Nolan  intend  to  do  with  me?" 
asked  Darling. 

"  Well,  sir,  it  looks  to  me  as  how  he  bes  figgerin' 
to  keep  ye  in  Chance  Along  till  June.  He  bes 
t'inkin'  as  how  the  young  lady  may  blow  'round 
to  his  own  idee,"  replied  Bill. 

"And  what  is  his  idea?" 

"  As  how  he  bes  a  better  man  nor  ye  be." 

"  But  why  does  he  figure  to  keep  me  until  June  ? 
Why  not  until  July,  or  August  —  or  next  Christ- 
mas?" 

"  Well,  sir,  ye  see  it  bes  this  way  wid  him. 
Father  McQueen,  the  dear,  riverent  gentleman  — 
an'  may  he  never  die  till  I  kills  him,  an'  may  every 
blessed  hair  on  his  head  turn  into  a  wax  candle  to 
light  him  to  glory !  —  bes  comin'  back  to  Chance 
Along  in  June.  The  skipper  bain't  afeared  o'  any 
man  in  the  world  but  his  riverence." 

John  Darling  smiled.  "  I  should  like  to  see 
Father  McQueen,"  he  said ;  "  but  I  am  afraid  I  must 


274  The  Harbor  Master 

be  going  away  from  here  considerably  before  the 
first  of  June." 

Bill  wagged  his  head.  "  Now  don't  ye  be  too 
sure,  sir,"  he  whispered.  "  Ye  bain't  dealin'  wid 
any  ignorant  fisherman  when  ye  bes  dealin'  wid 
Black  Dennis  Nolan.  Sure,  didn't  he  find  yer  bully 
this  very  mornin' !  " 

"My  bully!"  exclaimed  the  other,  losing  color. 
"Where  did  he  find  it?" 

"  Driftin'  in  the  harbor,"  returned  Bill.  "  It  bes 
a  grand  bully  entirely,  sir." 

Darling  was  silent  for  a  moment.  Then,  trying 
to  look  as  if  the  finding  of  the  bully  drifting  in 
the  harbor  was  rather  a  joke,  he  laughed. 

"  And  did  he  capture  my  crew  of  five  strong 
men  ?  "  he  asked. 

Bill  Brennen  grinned.  "  Now  ye  needn't  be 
tryin'  any  o'  yer  divilment  on  me,"  he  said.  "  The 
bully  was  as  empty  as  Tim  Sullivan's  brain-locker 
—  an'  the  holy  saints  knows  as  that  bes  empty 
enough !  Sure,  there  wasn't  even  a  sail  aboard  her, 
nor  a  bite  o'  grub  nor  a  drop  o'  liquor." 

"  My  five  men  must  have  fallen  overboard,"  said 
Darling,  smiling.  Poor  John!  Now,  should  he 
manage  to  escape  and  get  Flora  out  of  the  skipper's 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   275 

house,  how  was  he  to  get  out  of  the  harbor?  What 
had  happened  to  George  Wick  ?  The  tide  must  have 
carried  the  bully  out  of  the  drook,  while  George  was 
asleep,  and  drifted  it  around  to  the  harbor.  He 
promised  himself  the  pleasure  of  teaching  Master 
George  the  art  of  mooring  a  boat  if  he  ever  met 
him  again. 

John  Darling  spent  an  anxious  day.  Shortly 
after  midnight  he  was  startled  by  a  faint  tapping 
on  one  of  the  windows.  The  night  was  pitch  black, 
and  so  he  could  see  nothing.  The  tapping  was 
repeated.  He  rolled  out  of  his  blanket  and  across 
the  floor  toward  the  sound.  His  progress  was 
arrested  by  a  rank  of  boxes  and  flour-bags.  Press- 
ing his  shoulder  against  these,  he  hitched  himself 
to  his  feet,  turned  and  leaned  across  them  until  his 
face  was  within  a  foot  of  the  faint  square  of  the 
window.  Against  the  half -darkness  he  could  now 
see  something  indistinct  in  shape,  and  all  of  a  dense 
blackness  save  for  a  pale  patch  that  he  knew  to  be 
a  human  face.  It  was  Mary  Kavanagh.  She  told 
him  briefly  of  the  way  she  had  turned  the  skipper 
from  searching  the  coast  for  his  boat  and  his  com- 
panion; of  Flora's  safety,  and  of  how  she  hoped 
to  accomplish  their  escape  before  long  —  perhaps  on 


276  The  Harbor  Master 

the  following  night.  Wick  was  still  hidden  in  the 
drook,  she  said.  She  would  try  to  get  a  boat  of 
some  kind  around  to  him  on  the  next  night;  and 
if  she  succeeded  in  that,  she  would  return  and  try 
to  get  Darling  out  of  the  store  and  Flora  out  of 
the  skipper's  house. 

The  sailor  was  at  a  loss  for  words  in  which  to 
express  his  gratitude. 

"  But  ye  must  promise  me  one  thing,"  whispered 
the  girl.  "  Ye  must  swear,  by  all  the  holy  saints, 
to  do  naught  agin  Denny  Nolan  when  once  ye  git 
safe  away  —  swear  that  neither  Flora  nor  yerself 
puts  the  law  on  to  Denny,  nor  on  to  any  o'  the 
folks  o'  this  harbor,  for  whatever  has  been  done." 

"  I  swear  it,  by  all  the  saints,"  replied  Darling. 
"  For  myself  —  but  I  cannot  promise  it  for  Flora. 
You  must  arrange  that  with  her." 

Several  hours  after  Mary's  interview  with  John 
Darling,  old  Mother  Nolan  awoke  in  her  bed,  sud- 
denly, with  all  her  nerves  on  the  jump.  The  room 
was  dark,  but  she  felt  convinced  that  a  light  had 
been  held  close  to  her  face  but  a  moment  before. 
She  felt  no  fear  for  herself,  but  a  chilling  anxiety 
as  to  what  deviltry  Denny  might  be  up  to  now. 
Could  it  be  that  she  was  mistaken  in  him  after  all? 


Mother  Nolan  Does  Some  Spying   277 

Could  it  be  that  he  was  less  of  a  man  than  she  had 
thought?  She  crawled  noiselessly  from  her  bed 
and  stole  over  to  the  door  of  Flora  Lockhart's  room. 
The  door  was  fastened.  With  the  key,  which  she 
had  brought  from  under  her  pillow,  she  made  sure 
that  it  was  locked.  She  unlocked  it  noiselessly, 
opened  the  door  a  crack  and  peered  in.  The  room 
was  lighted  by  the  glow  from  the  fire  and  by  a  gut- 
tering candle  on  a  chair  beside  the  bed.  She  saw 
that  the  room  was  empty,  save  for  the  sleeping  girl. 
Closing  the  door  softly  and  locking  it  again,  she 
turned  and  groped  her  way  across  to  the  kitchen 
door,  beneath  which  a  narrow  line  of  light  was  vis- 
ible. Scarcely  breathing,  she  raised  the  latch,  drew 
the  door  inward  a  distance  of  half  an  inch  and  set 
one  of  her  bright  old  eyes  to  the  crack.  She  saw 
the  skipper  kneeling  in  a  corner  of  the  kitchen,  with 
his  back  to  her  and  a  candle  on  the  floor  beside  him. 
He  seemed  to  be  working  busily  and  heavily,  but 
not  a  sound  of  his  toil  reached  her  eager  ears. 

"  He  bes  hidin'  somethin',"  she  reflected. 
"  Shiftin'  some  o'  his  wracked  gold,  maybe?  But 
why  bes  he  so  sly  about  it  to-night,  a-spyin'  in  on 
his  old  grandmother  to  see  if  she  bes  sound  asleep 
or  no?" 


278  The  Harbor  Master 

Presently,  she  closed  the  door  and  crept  back  to 
her  bed.  Next  morning,  as  soon  as  the  skipper 
and  young  Cormick  had  left  the  house,  she  exam- 
ined the  corner  of  the  floor  where  the  skipper  had 
been  at  work.  She  had  to  pull  aside  a  wood-box 
to  get  at  the  spot.  One  of  the  narrow,  dusty  planks 
showed  that  it  had  been  tampered  with.  She  pried 
it  up  with  a  chisel,  dug  into  the  loose  earth  beneath 
and  at  last  found  a  small  box  covered  with  red 
leather.  She  opened  it  and  gazed  at  the  diamonds 
and  rubies  in  frightened  fascination.  Ignorant  as 
she  was  of  such  things,  she  knew  that  the  value  of 
these  stones  must  be  immense.  At  last  she  closed 
the  casket,  returned  it  to  the  bottom  of  the  hole 
and  replaced  the  earth,  the  plank  and  the  wood-box. 
Where,  when  and  how  had  the  skipper  come  by  that 
treasure?  she  wondered.  She  hobbled  over  to  Pat 
Kavanagh's  house  and  told  Mary  all  about  it. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

MARY   AT   WORK   AGAIN 

PIERRE  BENOIST,  the  survivor  of  the  French  brig, 
arrived  at  Mother  McKay's  shebeen  in  good  order, 
with  the  borrowed  blanket  draped  over  his  broad 
shoulders  and  the  borrowed  sealing-gun  under  his 
arm.  All  birds  of  Pierre's  variety  of  feather 
seemed  to  arrive  naturally  at  Mother  McKay's, 
sooner  or  later.  The  French  sailor  found  Dick 
Lynch;  a  Canadian  trapper  with  Micmac  blood  in 
his  veins,  who  had  come  out  of  the  woods  too  soon 
for  his  own  good;  three  men  from  Conception 
Bay  and  half  a  dozen  natives  of  the  city,  all  talking 
and  swearing  and  drinking  Mother  McKay's  ques- 
tionable rum  and  still  more  questionable  whiskey. 
Pierre  laid  aside  his  blanket  and  musket,  shouted 
for  liquor  and  then  studied  the  assembled  company. 
It  did  not  take  him  long  to  decide  that  they  were 
exactly  the  material  he  required.  He  took  a  seat 
at  Dick  Lynch's  elbow  and  in  such  English  as  he 
was  master  of,  remarked  that  any  man  who  worked 
for  his  living  was  no  better  than  a  fool. 

279 


280  The  Harbor  Master 

"  Sure,"  said  Lynch,  "  by  the  looks  o'  yerself  ye 
should  know." 

Monsieur  Benoist  pulled  his  sinister  mouth  into 
as  pleasant  a  grin  as  he  could  manage,  and  veiled 
the  dangerous  light  in  his  eyes.  Then  he  replied, 
in  a  loud  voice  that  caught  the  attention  of  all  the 
men  in  the  room,  that  he  was  certainly  in  a  position 
to  know,  having  come  straight  from  a  little  har- 
bor to  the  southward  where  a  handful  of  fishermen 
had  just  salvaged  two  chests  of  good  French  gold 
from  a  wreck.  He  told  the  whole  story  of  the 
wreck  and  of  the  subsequent  fight  in  which  his 
companion  had  been  killed.  To  add  reality  to  his 
tale  he  described  several  of  the  fishermen  minutely. 

"  That  bes  the  skipper  himself !  "  cried  Dick 
Lynch.  "  That  bes  Black  Dennis  Nolan,  ye  kin 
lay  to  that  —  aye,  an'  Bill  Brennen  an'  Nick 
Leary!  Sure,  then,  ye've  come  from  Chance 
Along,  b'y  —  the  very  place  I  comes  from  meself. 
Two  chests  o'  gold,  d'ye  say?  Then  I  tells  ye, 
b'ys,  there  bes  as  much  more  there  besides.  Chance 
Along  bes  fair  stinkin'  wid  gold  an'  wracked 
stuff." 

He  went  on  excitedly  and  gave  a  brief  and  start- 
ling outline  of  the  recent  history  of  Black  Dennis 


Mary  At  Work  Again  281 

Nolan  and  Chance  Along,  not  forgetting  his  own 
heroic  stand  against  the  tyrant. 

"  B'ys,  all  we  has  to  be  doin'  bes  to  go  an'  take 
it  —  an'  then  to  scatter.  This  here  captain  wid  the 
rings  in  his  ears  has  the  rigfht  idee,  sure!  Wid  all 
the  gold  an'  jewels  in  Chance  Along  shared  amongst 
us  sure  we'd  never  be  needin'  to  hit  another  clip  o' 
work  so  long  as  we  live.  Aye,  'twould  be  easy  wid 
guns  in  our  hands ;  but  we  must  be  quick  about  it, 
lads,  or  the  law'll  be  gittin'  there  ahead  o'  us,"  he 
concluded. 

The  others  clustered  about  Lynch  and  the 
French  sailor,  a  few  of  them  reeling,  but  all  intent 
upon  coming  to  some  arrangement  for  laying  hands 
upon  the  treasure  of  Chance  Along.  Big  fists 
pounded  the  sloppy  table,  husky  voices  bellowed 
questions,  and  stools  and  benches  were  overturned. 

"  There  bes  twelve  o'  us  here,"  said  Tom  Brent, 
of  Harbor  Grace,  "  twelve  able  lads,  every  moth- 
er's son  o'  us  ready  for  to  make  the  trip.  Now 
the  first  thing  bes  for  every  man  to  tell  his  name 
an'  swear  as  how  he'll  do  his  best  at  gettin'  the 
stuff  an'  never  say  naught  about  it  to  any  livin' 
soul  after  he's  got  safe  away  wid  his  share." 

All  agreed  to  these  suggestions,  and  oaths  were 


282  The  Harbor  Master 

taken  and  hopes  of  everlasting  salvation  pledged 
that  were  not  worth  the  breath  that  sounded  them. 
It  was  next  ascertained  by  Monsieur  Benoist,  who 
naturally  took  a  leading  part  in  the  organization, 
that  every  man  of  the  twelve  possessed  a  fire-arm  of 
one  kind  or  another.  Then  Bill  McKay,  Mother 
McKay's  son,  and  two  others  departed  in  quest  of 
horses  and  sleds.  The  roads  were  fairly  good  now, 
though  unpacked.  Mother  McKay  set  to  work  at 
the  packing  of  provisions  for  the  expedition.  She 
was  heart  and  soul  in  the  enterprise,  and  would 
have  her  interests  represented  by  her  son  Bill,  the 
worst  rascal,  hardest  fighter  and  most  devoted  son 
in  St.  John's.  She  had  a  hold  on  some  of  the  small 
farmers  around  —  in  fact,  she  owned  several  of  the 
farms  —  so  it  was  not  long  before  Bill  and  his  com- 
panions returned,  each  in  possession  of  a  horse  and 
sled.  The  expedition  set  out  at  two  o'clock  of  a 
windless,  frosty,  star-lit  morning.  They  travelled 
the  roads  which  John  Darling  had  followed,  several 
days  before;  but  now  the  mud-holes  and  quaking 
bogs  were  frozen  and  covered  with  snow.  Bill 
McKay  drove  the  sled  that  led  the  way  at  a  pace 
that  gave  the  following  teamsters  all  they  could  do 
to  keep  in  touch;  but  willing  hands  manned  the 


Mary  At  Work  Again  283 

whips  and  hammering  sled-stakes.  Now  and  again 
one  or  another  of  the  raiders  would  fall  off  a  sled 
and  necessitate  a  halt ;  and  so  the  poor  horses  were 
given  a  chance,  now  and  again,  to  recover  some- 
thing of  their  lost  wind. 

Back  in  Chance  Along  things  were  going  briskly. 
Mary  Kavanagh  learned  from  John  Darling  some- 
thing of  the  history  of  the  diamond  and  ruby  neck- 
lace and  made  up  her  mind  to  return  it  to  the  sailor. 
She  wanted  to  clean  the  harbor  of  everything  of 
the  kind  —  of  everything  that  came  up  from  the  sea 
in  shattered  ships,  except  food.  She  saw  the  hands 
of  the  saints  in  salvaged  provisions,  but  the  hand 
of  the  devil  himself  in  wrecked  gold  and  jewels  — 
and  wrecked  women.  She  decided  to  arrange  the 
recovery  of  the  necklace  and  the  bully,  and  the  es- 
cape of  the  strangers  for  that  very  night;  and  her 
decision  was  sealed,  a  few  hours  later,  by  the  skip- 
per's behavior.  It  was  this  way  with  the  skipper. 
He  felt  shame  for  "having  kept  the  girl  in  the  har- 
bor against  her  prayers,  and  for  the  lies  he  had 
told  her  and  the  destruction  of  the  letters ;  but  he 
was  neither  humble  nor  contrite.  Shame  was  a 
bitter  and  maddening  emotion  for  one  of  his  na- 
ture. He  brooded  over  this  shame,  and  over  that 


284  The  Harbor  Master 

aroused  by  the  girl's  scorn,  until  his  finer  feelings 
toward  her  were  burned  out  and  blown  abroad  like 
ashes.  His  infatuation  lost  its  fine,  ennobling  ele- 
ment of  worship,  and  fell  to  a  red  glow  of  desire 
of  possession.  He  forced  his  way  to  Flora's  room, 
despite  the  protests  of  Mother  Nolan. 

"  To-morrow  ye'll  be  mine  or  ye'll  be  his,"  he 
said,  staring  fixedly  at  the  frightened  girl.  "  To- 
morrow mornin'  him  an'  me  bes  a-goin'  to  fight  for 
ye  —  an'  the  man  what  lives  will  have  ye !  Ye  put 
the  name  o'  coward  on  to  me  —  but  I  bain't  no 
coward !  I  fights  fair  —  an'  the  best  man  wins.  I 
could  kill  him  now,  if  I  was  a  coward." 

Flora's  face  was  as  white  as  the  pallid  figure  on 
the  cross  above  the  chimney. 

"  You  are  a  coward !  —  and  a  beast !  "  she  cried 
from  dry  lips.  "  If  you  kill  him  my  curse  shall  be 
with  you  until  your  dying  day  —  and  afterwards  — 
forever." 

"  Then  ye  can  tell  him  to  go  away,  an'  I  won't 
be  killin'  him,"  said  the  man. 

"  Tell  him  —  to  go  —  away?  " 

"  Aye  —  that  ye've  no  need  o'  him.  Send  him 
away.  Tell  him  ye  means  to  marry  wid  me." 

"  No,"  whispered  the  girl.    And  then,  "  Do  you 


Mary  At  Work  Again  285 

mean  to  —  give  him  a  chance?  —  to  fight  him 
fair?" 

"  Aye,  man  to  man  —  an'  as  sure  as  the  divil 
fetched  him  to  Chance  Along  I'll  kill  him  wid  these 
hands !  An'  then  —  an'  then  ye'll  be  mine  —  an' 
when  Father  McQueen  comes  in  June  'twill  be 
time  for  the  weddin*  —  for  that  part  o'  it.  Ye've 
put  the  names  o'  coward  an'  beast  on  to  me  —  an' 
by  Saint  Peter,  ye'll  live  to  change  them  names  or 
to  know  them !  " 

Some  color  came  back  to  Flora's  cheeks  and  her 
clear  eyes  shone  to  their  depths. 

"  If  you  fight  fair,"  she  said,  faintly  but  stead- 
ily, "  he  will  give  you  what  you  deserve.  I  am  not 
afraid.  God  will  be  with  him  —  and  he  is  the  better 
man!" 

The  skipper  laughed,  then  stooped  suddenly, 
caught  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed  her  on  the  lips. 
Next  moment  he  flung  her  aside  and  dashed  from 
the  room,  almost  overturning  Mother  Nolan  in  his 
flight.  At  the  door  of  the  kitchen  he  came  face  to 
face  with  Mary  Kavanagh.  He  tried  to  pass  her 
without  pausing,  but  she  stood  firm  on  the  threshold 
and  held  him  for  a  moment  or  two  with  her  strong 
arms.  Her  gray  eyes  were  blazing. 


286  The  Harbor  Master 

"  I  sees  the  Black  One  a-ridin'  on  yer  back ! " 
she  cried,  in  a  voice  of  horror  and  disgust.  "  I 
sees  his  face  over  yer  shoulder  —  aye,  an'  his  arm 
around  yer  neck  like  a  rope !  " 

He  looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  and  then  quickly 
away  as  he  forced  her  violently  aside. 

"  An'  the  hell-fire  in  yer  eyes !  "  she  cried. 

The  skipper  was  free  of  her  by  then  and  out  of 
the  house;  but  he  turned  and  stared  at  her  with  a 
haggard  face  and  swiftly  dulling  eyes. 

"  The  curse  bes  on  me !  "  he  whispered.  "  It 
bes  in  me  vitals  now  —  like  I  had  kilt  him  al- 
ready." 

The  expression  of  the  girl's  face  changed  in  a 
flash  and  she  sprang  out  and  caught  one  of  his 
hands  in  both  of  hers. 

"  Kill  him?  Ye  bain't  meanin'  to  kill  him,  Denny 
Nolan?"  she  whispered. 

"  Aye,  but  I  bes,  curse  or  no  curse,"  he  said, 
dully.  "  To-morrow  mornin'  I  bes  a-goin'  to  kill 
him  —  man  to  man,  in  fair  fight." 

"But  for  why,  Denny?" 

"  For  the  girl." 

"  Bes  ye  lovin'  her  so  desperate,  Denny?" 

"Nay,  nay,  lass,  not  now.     But  I  wants  her! 


Mary  At  Work  Again  287 

An'  she  puts  the  name  o'  beast  on  to  me  an'  the 
nature  o'  beast  into  me,  like  a  curse !  " 

"  To-morrow  ?  An'  ye'll  fight  him  fair, 
Denny?" 

"  Aye,  to-morrow  —  man  to  man  —  wid  empty 
hands!" 

The  girl  turned  and  entered  the  house,  and  the 
skipper  went  up  the  path  at  the  back  of  the  harbor 
and  wandered  over  the  snowy  barrens  for  hours. 
It  was  dusk  when  Bill  Brennen  found  him. 

"  Skipper,"  said  Bill,  "  the  lads  bes  at  it  again. 
They  wants  to  know  when  ye'll  make  a  trip  to  St. 
John's  wid  the  jewels?  —  an'  where  the  jewels  bes 
gone  to,  anyhow  ?  " 

"  Jewels !  "  cried  the  skipper  —  "  an'  the  entire 
crew  o'  'em  fair  rotten  wid  gold!  I'll  dig  up  the 
jewels  from  where  we  hid  'em  an'  t'row  'em  into 
their  dirty  faces  —  an'  they  kin  carry  'em  to  St. 
John's  an'  sell  'em  to  suit  themselves,  the  squid !  " 

So  he  and  Bill  Brennen  tramped  off  to  the  north- 
ward; and  Mary  Kavanagh  was  aware  of  their 
going. 

Mary  was  busy  during  their  absence.  She  un- 
earthed the  necklace,  and  with  it  and  the  key  from 
behind  the  skipper's  clock,  made  her  way  to  the 


288  The  Harbor  Master 

store.  It  was  dark  by  now,  with  stars  in  the  sky 
and  a  breath  of  wind  from  the  south  and  south-by- 
west.  The  folks  were  all  in  their  cabins,  save  the 
skipper  and  Bill  Brennen,  who  were  digging  the 
harbor's  cache  of  jewelry  from  the  head  of  a  thicket 
of  spruce-tuck.  She  let  herself  into  the  store  and 
freed  John  Darling  without  striking  a  light.  She 
placed  the  casket  in  his  hand. 

"  The  skipper  has  yer  pistols  in  his  own  pocket, 
so  I  couldn't  git  'em  for  ye,"  she  whispered. 
"  Now  sneak  up  to  the  back,  quick.  Ye'll  find 
yer  lass  there,  a-waitin'  for  ye  wid  old  Mother 
Nolan.  Git  north  to  the  drook  where  yer  man  bes, 
an'  lay  down  there,  the  three  o'  ye,  till  I  fetches 
yer  bully.  Then  git  out,  an'  keep  out,  for  the  love 
o'  mercy!  Step  lively,  captain!  The  skipper  bes 
out  o'  the  harbor  this  minute,  but  he  bes  a-comin' 
home  soon.  Get  along  wid  ye  quick,  to  the  top  o' 
the  cliff." 

She  left  him  before  he  had  an  opportunity  to 
even  try  to  thank  her.  He  followed  her  to  the 
door,  walking  stiffly,  paused  outside  for  long 
enough  to  get  his  bearings,  then  closed  the  door 
noiselessly,  turned  the  key  in  the  lock,  withdrew 
it  and  dropped  it  in  the  snow.  Then  he  made  his 


Mary  At  Work  Again  289 

way  cautiously  to  the  back  of  the  harbor  and  up 
the  twisting  path  as  fast  as  he  could  scramble.  At 
the  top,  crouched  behind  a  boulder,  beside  old 
Mother  Nolan,  he  found  Flora. 

Neither  the  girl  nor  the  man  heard  the  old 
woman's  words  of  farewell.  They  moved  north- 
ward along  the  snowy  path,  hand  in  hand,  run- 
ning with  no  more  sound  than  slipping  star- 
shadows.  So  for  a  hundred  yards;  and  then  the 
speed  began  to  slacken,  and  at  last  they  walked. 
They  reached  the  black  crest  where  the  brushwood 
of  the  drook  showed  above  the  level  of  the  barrens. 
Here  they  halted,  and  Darling  whistled  guardedly. 
An  answering  note  came  up  to  them  from  the  black- 
ness below  and  to  seaward.  Darling  stepped  down, 
parted  the  young  birches  and  twisted  alders  with 
one  arm  and  drew  Flora  into  the  cover.  She  stum- 
bled, saved  herself  from  falling  by  encountering  his 
broad  chest  —  and  then  she  put  up  both  arms  and 
slipped  them  about  his  neck. 

"  My  God !  Do  you  mean  it,  Flora  ?  "  he  whis- 
pered. 

For  answer,  her  arms  tightened  about  his  neck. 
He  lowered  his  head  slowly,  staring  at  the  pale 
oval  of  her  face  —  and  so  their  lips  met. 


290  The  Harbor  Master 

Another  cautious  whistle  from  below  brought 
them  to  a  realization  of  their  surroundings.  They 
continued  their  downward  journey  and  presently 
found  George  Wick.  George  was  in  a  bad  humor. 
He  was  cold,  and  he  grumbled  in  cautious  growls. 

"  So  ye  come  for  a  girl,  did  ye  ?  Well,  there 
bes  another  girl  in  this  harbor  I'd  like  to  be  fetchin' 
away  wid  me!  Aye,  here  she  bes  now,  wid  the 
bully." 

Mary  sprang  ashore. 

"  Here  ye  be.  Git  yer  gear  aboard  quick,  an' 
away  wid  ye,"  she  whispered,  "  an'  don't  forget 
yer  promise." 

"  I'll  be  comin'  back  for  ye,  one  o'  these  days," 
said  George  Wick. 

"  Then  ye  needn't,  for  ye  bain't  wanted,"  replied 
Mary. 

John  and  Flora  scarcely  heard  her;  but  George 
gave  ear  until  the  last  swish  and  rustle  of  her  ascent 
through  the  brush  died  away.  Then  he  fell  to  load- 
ing the  bully.  Five  minutes  later  they  took  their 
places  aboard,  pushed  out  of  the  little  cove,  stepped 
the  mast  and  spread  the  red  sail. 

Flora  sat  in  the  stern-sheets.  John  managed  the 
tiller  with  his  left  hand.  The  light  breeze  wafted 


Mary  At  Work  Again  291 

them  northward.  At  last  George  Wick  broke  the 
silence. 

"  Hark!    What  bes  that?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  It  sounded  like  gun-shots,"  said  John,  indif- 
ferently. 

"  I  suppose  that  mad  skipper  is  fighting  with  his 
men,"  said  Flora  —  and  the  breath  of  her  words 
touched  the  sailor's  cheek. 


CHAPTER    XX 
FATHER  MCQUEEN'S  RETURN 

BLACK  DENNIS  NOLAN  and  Bill  Brennen  brought 
the  loose  jewels  from  their  hiding-place  to  the  har- 
bor. The  skipper  carried  the  dispatch-box,  and 
in  -his  pockets  he  had  John  Darling's  neat  little 
pistols,  each  good  for  two  shots  —  the  latest  thing 
in  pistols  at  that  time.  They  went  straight  to 
Cornelius  Lynch's  cabin,  where  the  leading  grum- 
blers were  assembled.  The  skipper  was  about  to 
kick  open  the  door  and  stuff  the  jewels  into  their 
insatiable  maws  when  a  guarded,  anxious  voice  at 
•his  elbow  arrested  him  with  one  foot  drawn  back. 
The  voice  was  that  of  Mary  Kavanagh. 

"  Whist !  "  said  Mary.  "  Bes  that  yerself,  Denny 
Nolan?" 

"  Aye,  sure  it  be,"  returned  the  skipper. 

"  I  heard  a  sound  on  the  cliff,  to  the  north,"  said 
Mary.  "  The  sound  o'  a  horse  nickerin'  an'  men 
cursin'  it  for  the  same." 

"  A  horse  ?  "  queried   the  skipper.     And  then, 

292 


Father  McQueen's  Return  293 

"  On  the  cliff  to  the  north  ?  Where  the  divil  has 
ye  been  to,  Mary  Kavanagh?  " 

"  Whist !  Hark  to  that !  "  exclaimed  the  girl. 

"  Sure,  skipper,  'twas  somethin'  up  back  yonder," 
whispered  Bill  Brennen.  "  It  sounded  to  meself 
like  a  gun  slammin'  agin  a  rock." 

"Would  it  be  that  stranger  lad?"  queried  Den- 
nis, anxiously. 

"  Nay,  he  bes  safe  enough,"  said  Mary.  "  But 
hark  to  that,  now!  There  bes  a  whole  crew  up 
yonder." 

The  skipper  opened  Cornelius  Lynch's  door,  but 
not  with  his  foot  as  he  had  formerly  intended. 

"  Turn  out  an'  git  yer  guns,  men.  There  bes 
trouble  a-foot,"  he  said,  quietly.  Then,  laying  a 
hand  on  Mary's  shoulder,  he  whispered,  "  Git  Pat 
an'  yerself  to  my  house  an'  fasten  up  the  doors.  It 
bes  a  strong  house,  lass,  an'  if  there  bes  any  gunnin' 
ye'll  be  safe  there." 

"Ye  needn't  be  worryin'  for  Flora  Lockhart," 
said  Mary.  "  She  bes  safe  enough  —  herself  an' 
the  captain  —  a-sailing  away  in  the  bully  this  half- 
hour  back." 

The  skipper's  hand  tightened  on  her  shoulder; 
but  she  did  not  flinch.  In  the  light  from  the  open 


294  The  Harbor  Master 

door  he  stared  at  her  —  and  she  stared  back  at  him, 
glance  for  glance.  There  was  astonishment  in  his 
eyes  rather  than  anger,  and  a  question  rather  than 
condemnation.  He  was  about  to  speak  when  the 
smashing  report  of  a  musket  rang  out  from  the 
slope  and  a  slug  splintered  the  edge  of  the  open 
door.  The  skipper  pushed  Mary  away  from  him. 

"  Run!    Run  to  the  house!  "  he  cried. 

Mary  vanished  into  the  darkness.  Men  clustered 
around  the  skipper,  sealing-guns,  pistols,  cutlasses 
and  clubs  in  their  hands,  their  grumblings  forgotten 
in  the  prospect  of  a  fight.  The  open  door  was  shut 
with  a  bang. 

"  Follow  me !  "  shouted  the  skipper,  dropping  the 
dispatch-box  of  loose  jewels  to  the  trampled  snow 
and  pulling  his  pistols  from  his  pocket. 

The  men  of  Chance  Along  and  Pierre  Benoist's 
ruffians  met  at  the  foot  of  the  steep  slope,  among 
the  upper  rank  of  cabins.  All  doubts  as  to  the  in- 
tentions of  the  visitors  were  dispelled  from  the 
skipper's  mind  by  a  voice  shouting,  "  Git  inside  the 
houses,  lads,  an'  pull  up  the  floors.  There  bes 
where  ye'll  find  the  stuff.  Git  into  the  big  house. 
It  be  fair  full  o'  gold  an'  jewels." 

The  voice  was  that  of  Dick  Lynch.    The  skipper 


Father  McQueen's  Return  295 

knew  it,  and  his  pistols  flashed  and  banged  in  his 
hands. 

The  light  of  the  stars,  dimmed  by  a  high,  thin 
veil  of  mist,  was  not  good  enough  to  fight  scientif- 
ically by.  After  the  first  clash  it  was  almost  im- 
possible to  know  friend  from  foe  at  the  length  of 
an  arm.  Single  combats,  and  cursing  knots  of 
threes  and  fours,  staggered  and  swatted  among  the 
little  dwellings.  The  work  was  entirely  too  close 
for  gun-work,  and  so  the  weapons  were  clubbed  and 
the  affair  hammered  out  like  hot  irons  on  an  anvil. 

After  ten  minutes  of  it  the  skipper  found  him- 
self in  front  of  his  own  door,  with  a  four-foot  stick 
of  green  birch  in  his  hands,  and  something  wet 
and  warm  trickling  from  his  forehead  into  his  left 
eye.  Three  men  were  at  him.  Bill  McKay  was  one 
of  them  and  Pierre  Benoist  another.  McKay 
fought  with  a  clubbed  musket,  and  the  French  sailor 
held  a  dirk  in  one  hand  and  an  empty  pistol  in  the 
other.  The  third  prodded  about  in  the  background 
with  a  cutlass.  He  seemed  to  be  of  a  retiring  dis- 
position. 

The  skipper  defended  his  position  heroically ;  but 
after  two  minutes  of  it  the  musket  proved  heavier 
than  the  club  of  birch,  and  he  received  a  crack  on 


296  The  Harbor  Master 

his  left  shoulder  that  put  one  arm  out  of  action. 
The  Frenchman  ducked  and  slipped  in ;  but  the  skip- 
per's boot  on  his  collar-bone  set  him  back  for  a 
moment  and  sent  the  knife  tinkling  to  the  ground. 
But  the  same  movement,  thanks  to  the  little  wad 
of  snow  on  the  heel  of  his  boot,  brought  the  skipper 
to  the  flat  of  his  back  with  a  bone-shaking  slam. 
The  clubbed  musket  swung  up  —  and  then  the  door 
flew  open  above  his  upturned  face,  candle-light 
flooded  over  him  and  a  sealing-gun  flashed  and  bel- 
lowed. Then  the  threatening  musket  fell  of  its  own 
weight,  from  dead  hands  —  and  the  skipper  went 
to  sleep  with  more  stars  twirling  white  and  green 
fire  across  his  inner  vision  than  he  had  ever  seen  in 
the  sky. 

It  was  daylight  when  Black  Dennis  Nolan  next 
opened  his  eyes.  He  was  in  his  own  bed.  He  felt 
very  sick  in  the  stomach,  very  light  in  the  head, 
very  dry  in  the  mouth.  Old  Mother  Nolan  sat 
beside  the  bed,  smoking  her  pipe. 

"  Was  it  ye  let  off  the  old  gun  out  the  door  ?  " 
he  asked. 

"  Nay,  'twas  Mary  done  it,"  replied  Mother 
Nolan,  blinking  her  black  eyes  at  him. 

"  An'  where  bes  Mary  now  ?  "  he  asked. 


Father  McQueen's  Return  297 

"  In  me  own  bed.  Sure,  when  she  was  draggin' 
ye  into  the  house,  didn't  some  divil  jab  her  in  the 
neck  wid  a  great  knife." 

The  skipper  sat  up,  though  the  effort  spun  a  pur- 
ple haze  across  his  eyes,  and  set  a  lump  of  red-hot 
iron  knocking  about  inside  his  skull. 

"  Bes  she  —  dead  ?  "  he  whispered. 

"  Nay,  lad,  nay,  she  bain't  what  ye'd  call  dead," 
replied  the  old  woman. 

The  skipper  rolled  to  the  floor,  scrambled  to  his 
feet,  reeled  across  the  kitchen  and  into  the  next 
room,  and  sank  at  the  side  of  Mary's  bed.  He  was 
done.  He  could  not  lift  himself  an  inch  higher; 
but  a  hand  came  down  to  him,  over  the  side  of  the 
bed,  and  touched  his  battered  brow. 

A  week  later,  Mary  Kavanagh  was  able  to  sit 
up  in  Mother  Nolan's  bed;  and  the  skipper  was 
himself  again,  at  least  as  far  as  the  cut  over  his 
eye  and  the  bump  on  top  of  his  head  were  con- 
cerned. 

The  skipper  and  Mother  Nolan  sat  by  Mary's 
bed.  The  skipper  looked  older,  wiser  and  less  sure 
of  himself  than  in  the  brisk  days  before  the  raid. 

"  I  bes  a  poor  man  now,"  he  said.  "  Sure,  them 
robbers  broke  t'rough  this  harbor  somethin'  des- 


298  The  Harbor  Master 

perate !  Didn't  the  back  o'  the  chimley  look  like 
the  divil  had  been  a-clawin'  it  out?  " 

"  Quick  come  and  quick  go !  Ye  bes  lucky,  lad, 
they  didn't  sail  away  wid  yer  fore-an'-after,"  said 
Mother  Nolan. 

"  Aye,  Granny ;  but  it  do  beat  me  how  ever  they 
come  to  dig  up  the  kitchen-floor." 

"Sure,  an'  they  didn't,"  said  Mary.  " 'Twas 
mejelf  done  that  —  an'  sent  the  red  an'  white  dia- 
monds away  wid  Flora's  man.  'Twas  himself  ye 
took  'em  from,  Denny  Nolan." 

"  An'  a  good  thing,  too,"  said  Mother  Nolan. 
"  Sure,  ye  sent  all  the  curses  o'  Chance  Along 
away  together,  Mary  dear!  There  bain't  no  luck 
in  wracked  gold,  nor  wracked  diamonds  —  nor 
wracked  women!  Grub  an'  gear  bes  our  right; 
but  not  gold  an'  humans." 

The  skipper  gazed  at  the  girl  until  her  eyes  met 
his. 

"Was  ye  workin'  agin  me  all  the  time?"  he 
asked,  quietly. 

"  Nay,  Denny,  but  I  was  workin'  for  ye  —  all  the 
time,"  she  whispered. 

"  Sure  she  was,"  said  Mother  Nolan,  puffing  at 
her  pipe.  "  Aye  —  an'  many's  the  time  'twas  on 


Father  McQueen's  Return  299 

me  tongue  to  call  her  a  fool  for  her  trouble,  ye  was 
that  bewitched  an'  bemazed,  lad." 

The  skipper  stared  at  the  floor  for  a  long  time, 
in  silence.  At  last  he  said,  "  Wid  the  way  ye  was 
workin',  Mary,  the  wonder  bes  to  me  what  for  ye 
risked  the  knife  in  yer  neck  to  save  me  life  from 
the  Frenchman." 

"  Denny,  ye  bes  still  a  fool !  "  exclaimed  Mother 
Nolan.  "  When  you  bain't  one  manner  o'  fool  ye 
bes  another!  What  for?  d'ye  ask!  Well,  what 
for?" 

"  Sure,  I  was  only  wonderin',"  said  the  man, 
glancing  shyly  and  hopefully  at  the  girl  in  the  bed. 

Father  McQueen  reached  Chance  Along  early  in 
June.  He  found  plenty  of  work  awaiting  him,  in- 
cluding six  masses  for  the  newly-dead,  and  the 
building  of  the  church.  The  general  tone  of  the 
harbor  impressed  him  as  being  strangely  subdued. 
Even  Black  Dennis  Nolan  seemed  less  vivid  and 
dominant  in  his  bearing;  but  in  spite  of  this  change 
in  him,  he  refused  to  put  off  his  wedding  even  for 
the  glory  of  being  married  in  the  new  church. 

In  spite  of  a  scar  on  her  round,  white  neck,  Mary 
Nolan  was  the  grandest-looking,  sweetest  bride  that 


300  The  Harbor  Master 

had  ever  been  seen  in  Chance  Along.  Denny 
thought  so,  and  old  Barney  Keen  said  it,  and  Mother 
Nolan  proved  it  by  admitting  that  even  she  herself 
had  not  cut  such  a  figure,  under  similar  circum- 
stances, fifty  years  ago.  And  on  the  morning  after 
the  wedding,  the  skipper  and  Mary  set  out  on  their 
honeymoon  to  St.  John's,  aboard  the  fore-and-after, 

with  a  freight  of  salvaged  cargo  under  the  hatch 

» 

instead  of  thiefed  jewels  and  gold.  Back  in  the 
harbor  the  men  unmoored  their  skiffs  for  the  fishing, 
even  as  their  fathers  had  done  since  the  first  Nolan 
and  the  first  Leary  spied  that  coast.  They  grumbled 
a  little,  as  was  their  nature;  but  there  was  no  talk 
of  mutiny  or  treason.  The  red  tide  of  greed  had 
ebbed  away  with  the  passing  of  the  sense  of  pos- 
session, and  the  fear  of  bewitchment  had  faded  away 
with  the  departure  of  the  innocent  witch. 


THE   END. 


CHRONICLES    OF   AVONLEA 


«W/  In  which  Anne  Shirley  of  Green  Gables  and 
^b  Avonlea  plays  some  part,  and  vthich  have  to  do  with 
other  personalities  and  events,  including  The  Hurrying  of  Lu- 
dovic,  Old  Lady  Lloyd,  The  Training  of  Felix,  Little  Joscelyn, 
The  Winning  of  Lucinda,  Old  Man  Shaw's  Girl,  Aunt  Olivia's 
Beau,  The  Quarantine  at  Alexander  Abraham's,  Pa  Sloane's 
Purchase,  The  Courting  of  Prissy  Strong,  The  Miracle  at  Car- 
mody,  and  finally  of  The  t£nd  of  a  Quarrel,  all  related  by 


JXContgomery 


Author  of 

"Anne  of  Green  Gables"  (32nd  printing),  "Anne  of  Avonlea"  (16th 

printing),  "Kilmeny   of  the  Orchard"  (8th  printing),    "The  Story 

Girl "  (6th  printing). 

9 

1 2 mo,  cloth,  isith  a  new  portrait  in  full  color  of  Anne, 
by  George  Qibbs,  net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 

9 

Anne  Shirley  is  the  very  Anne  of  whom  Mark  Twain  wrote 
in  a  letter  to  Francis  Wilson  :  "  In  Anne  Shirley,  you  will  find 
the  dearest  and  most  moving  and  delightful  child  of  fiction 
since  the  immortal  Alice."  Of  Miss  Montgomery's  previous 
books,  the  reviewers  have  written  as  follows : 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  how  much  I  enjoyed  the  book,  and  I  can  heartily 
recommend  it  to  my  friends  who  are  not  ashamed  when  from  time  to  time 
they  find  the  eyes  suffuse  and  the  page  grow  blurred  at  the  pathos  of  the 
story."  —  Sir  Louis  H.  Davits  of  the  Supreme  Court  of  Canada. 

"  I  take  it  as  a  great  test  of  the  worth  of  the  book  that  while  the  young 
people  are  rummaging  all  over  the  house  looking  for  Anne,  the  head  of  the 
family  has  carried  her  off  to  read  on  his  way  to  town." —  Bliss  Carman 

"  Here  we  have  a  book  as  human  as  '  David  'Harum,'  a  heroine  who  out- 
charms  a  dozen  princesses  of  fiction,  and  reminds  you  of  some  sweet  girl  you 
know,  or  knew  back  in  the  days  when  the  world  was  young  and  you  threw 
away  your  sponge  that  you  might  have  to  borrow  hers  to  clean  your  slate." 
—  San  Francisco  Bulletin. 

"A  book  to  lift  the  spirit  and  send  the  pessimist  into  bankruptcy!"  — 
Mtnditk  Nicholson. 

"  Miss  Montgomery  deserves  more  than  ordinary  praise  for  her  clean 
simple  style,  and  her  power  to  convey  the  sweetness  and  charm  of  such  a 
country  and  such  a  heroine."  —  Toronto  Nevis. 

"  The  writer's  style  is  careful  and  refined."  —  Si.  Louis  Globe-Democrat. 

"  The  art  which  pervades  every  page  is  so  refined  that  the  cultivated  imagi- 
nation will  return  to  the  story  again  and  again  in  memory  to  find  always 
something  fresh  to  enjoy."  —  Toronto  World. 


MISS    BILLY'S    DECISION 

^          A  Sequel  to  "MUs  Billy"          f^ 
fBy  ^leanor  H.  'Porter 

9 
1 2 mo,  cloth,  illustrated,  net  $1.25;  postpaid  $  1 .40 


The  new  book  takes  up  the  thread  of  the  story  where  the 
first  one  left  it.  Billy  Neilson  is  still  the  central  figure  and 
we  meet  nearly  all  the  old  characters  —  William  Henshaw, 
the  big-hearted,  still  devoted  to  his  collections  of  bugs  and 
things,  Cyril,  happy  in  having  found  for  himself  the  woman 
content  to  "  darn  socks,"  and  Bertram,  happy  in  having  found 
the  real  Billy.  And  there  are  other  new  friends  of  Billy's  to 
meet — notably  a  young  tenor  singer  who  is  studying  for  Grand 
Opera  and  who  creates  some  very  amusing  situations.  There 
are,  too,  further  complications  brought  about  by  a  beautiful 
girl,  whose  portrait,  much  to  Billy's  dircomfiture,  Bertram  is 
painting. 

* 

Of  the  first  "  Miss  Billy  "  the  critics  have  written  as  follows :  — 

"  To  say  of  any  story  that  it  makes  the  reader's  heart  feel  warm  and  happy 
is  to  pay  it  praise  of  sorts,  undoubtedly.  Well,  that's  the  very  praise  one 
gives  '  Miss  Billy.'  "  —  Edwin  L.Shuman  in  the  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"There  is  a  fine  humor  in  the  book,  some  good  revelation  of  character 
and  plenty  of  romance  of  an  unusual  order."  —  The  Philadelphia  Inquirer • 

"  The  reader  will  find  it  a  very  difficult  thing  to  lay  this  book  down  before 
finishing  it  to  the  very  end."  —  Boston  Times. 

"  It  is  a  tale  with  many  amusing  situations  and  a  pretty  romance  which 
endears  Billy  to  the  heart  of  the  reader."  —  Marine  Journal. 

"  The  story  is  good  fun;  rapid,  clean,  and  not  too  obvious;  Billy  herself  is 
'all  right.'  "  —  Philadelphia  Prts*. 


NAOMI  OF   THE   ISLAND 

2&  Lucy  ^hurston  Abbott 


1 2 mo,  cloth,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  by  William  Bunting, 
net  $1.25;     postpaid  $1.40 


A  FIRST  story  by  a  writer  of  ability  who  bids  fair  to  be 
heard  from  as  a  novelist  of  importance.  The  potent  pos- 
sibilities of  richness  of  character  and  the  general  denial  of 
self  are  very  sympathetically  described  in  the  development 
of  the  life  of  the  girl  heroine,  Naomi,  who,  though  from 
the  time  of  her  childhood  handicapped  by  environment 
and  seemingly  overwhelmed  by  circumstances,  determines 
to  be  "somebody." 

The  scene  begins  on  a  rough  island  off  the  New  England 
coast  and  the  story  has  to  do  for  the  most  part  with  "  down 
Maine  folk."  But  it  is  the  whimsical,  dainty  and  lovable 
"  Naomi  of  the  Island  "  who  wins  our  keenest  sympathy  and 
affection  from  the  first,  and  whose  independence  and  charm 
make  us  sorrow  and  rejoice  with  her. 

The  editor  who  finally  passed  on  Mrs.  Abbott's  story 
summed  up  the  situation,  when  he  wrote:  "This  is  one  of  the 
most  charming  love  stories  I  have  ever  read  and  I  heartily 
recommend  its  publication." 


"The  beauty   of    the  story   lies  in  its   simplicity  and  pathos  mingled 
with  the  lighter  vein  of  humor."  —  Baltimore  H*rald. 


"One  merit  of  the  book  is  its  reproduction  of  the  genuine  New 
England  atmosphere.  The  humor  is  pervasive  and  delicate,  the  pathetic 
touches  equally  effective."  —  Saston  Herald. 


THE   DOMINANT    CHORD 

^Sb  $y  fdward  Kimball  3 

With  a  frontispiece,  in  full  color,  from  a  painting 
by  William  Bunting 

Cloth  decorative,  net  $1.25;  postpaid  $  1 .40 


In  this  battle  of  wits  and  wealth,  of  love  and  pride,  we  have 
a  new  and  novel  interpretation  of  Wordsworth's  "simple plan, 
that  they  should  take  who  have  the  power,  and  they  should 
keep  who  can." 

"  The  Dominant  Chord"  is  a  story  in  which  the  characters 
that  count  are  few — just  a  man  and  a  maid.  But  the  man 
is  one  accustomed  to  make  his  own  way  and  gain  his  end,  and 
when  convention  proves  a  barrier  in  his  path,  Gordon  Craig 
defiantly  sweeps  it  aside  and  takes  decisive  measures  to  win 
the  heart  of  Alice  Huntington.  The  unusual  methods  em- 
ployed by  the  man  only  serve  to  arouse  the  natural  righting 
instincts  of  the  girl;  a  girl  whom  we  admire  for  her  womanli- 
ness, and  who  is  a  thoroughbred  in  every  act. 

There  is  a  thread  of  scientific  prophecy  running  through 
the  book  which,  while  it  does  not  distract  attention  from  the 
clash  of  two  strong,  primitive,  and,  to  a  certain  extent,  antag- 
onistic natures,  will  not  be  found  to  lessen  the  interest  in  the 
story  for  those  inclined  to  speculate  on  future  developments 
in  the  field  of  applied  science. 

But  it  is  the  story  that  counts,  and  this  conflict  of  wills,  un- 
der unusual  circumstances,  between  a  girl  of  wealth  and  posi- 
tion and  a  man  of  genius,  an  engineer,  who  does  things,  gives 
a  plot  that  is  strong,  compelling,  and  fascinating,  and  the  un- 
locked for  denouement  serves  to  emphasize  the  author's  as- 
sertion that  "  in  all  rich  lives,  lives  that  are  worth  the  living, 
the  dominant  chord  is  love,  and  always,  always  and  inevitably 
the  strongest  thing  will  win." 


THE    SWORD    OF    BUSSY 

Sp  A  Romance  of  the  Time  of  Henri  III 
•*» 

(By  Robert  ftCeilson  Stephens 

Author    of 

"  An  Enemy  to  the  King,"  "  Philip  Winwood," 
"  A  Soldier  of  Valley  Forge."  etc. 


With  a  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a  painting 

by  Edmund  H.   Garrett 
Cloth  decorative,  net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 

9 

A  brilliant  romance  of  France  in  the  sixteenth  century,  in 
which  Bussy  d'Amboise,  the  brave  and  impetuous  favorite  of 
the  Due  d'Anjou,  brother  of  Henri  III,  and  Heloise  de  Mau- 
court  are  the  chief  figures. 

Mr.  Stephens  introduces  many  of  the  historical  characters 
which  appear  in  Dumas'  "  La  Dame  de  Monsoreau,"  inclu- 
ding the  Count  de  Monsoreau,  traitor  to  both  country  and 
master. 

The  plot  centres  around  the  mission  of  young  Heloise  to 
wipe  out  the  stain  on  her  family's  honor,  which  she  ascribes, 
in  error,  to  the  dashing  Bussy. 

Bussy  d'Amboise,  whose  reckless  bravery  and  chivalrous 
nature  have  made  him  famous  in  history  as  well  as  in  fiction, 
is  pictured  by  Mr.  Stephens  even  more  faithfully  than  by 
Dumas,  who,  too  frequently,  makes  historical  facts  subservi- 
ent to  the  novelist's  requirements;  while  the  other  historical 
characters  who  enter  into  the  romance  are  set  forth  with  a 
keen  knowledge  of  both  the  history  and  the  customs  of  that 
day. 

More  than  half  a  million  copies  of  Mr.  Stephens'  Romances 
have  been  sold. 

"  The  story  is  vivid  and  rapid,  holding  the  reader's  attention  from  the  out- 
set. The  characters  are  well  contrasted  and  in  the  large  vital  way  character- 
iitic  of  the  author."  —  Philadelphia  Prets. 

"  The  scenes  and  settings  of  this  winning  story  are  true  to  history."  — 
Boston  Globe. 


THE       ISLAND       OF 
BEAUTIFUL    THINGS 

^  £y  Will  Jill™  Vromgoole  f^ 

* 

1 2  mo,  cloth,  illustrated  by  Edmund  H.   Gar  re  It 
Net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 


An  author  whose  art  can  hold  equally  the  interest  of  both 
men  and  women  is  an  exception,  but  Miss  Will  Allen  Drom- 
goole,  the  brilliant  Southern  writer,  has  accomplished  this 
with  success  in  "THE  ISLAND  OF  BEAUTIFUL 
THINGS." 

With  delightful  precision  of  vision  and  style  she  gives  us  a 
love  story  of  the  South.  It  is  the  first  time  she  has  interpre- 
ted this  phase  of  life  and  her  conception  and  treatment  is 
decidedly  original. 

Through  a  little  child  a  strong  "fighting  man,"  who  has 
lost  all  confidence  in  human  nature,  is  led  to  put  his  trust  in 
humanity  once  more  —  and  in  a  woman. 

The  author  has  developed  the  story  so  sympathetically  that 
the  book  and  the  people  in  it  will  linger  long  in  the  reader's 
memory. 


"  A  charming  portrayal  of  the  attractive  life  of  the  South,  refreshing  as  a 
breeze  that  blows  through  a  pine  forest."  —  Albany  Times-Union. 

"  The  interest  of  the  first  chapter  heightens  as  the  story  progresses,  and 
when  one  finishes  the  tale  it  is  with  regret  that  the  story  is  not  much  longer." 
—  Boston  Pilot. 

"  It  leaves  one  tenderer,  more  hopeful,  more  human."  —  Public  Opinion. 

"  This  is  the  kind  of  a  story  that  makes  one  grow  younger,  more  innocent, 
more  Hghthearted.    Its  literary  quality  is  impeccable.     It  is  not  every  day 
that  such  a  hero  blossoms  into  even  temporary  existence,  and  the  very  name    ^ 
of  the  story  bears  a  breath  of  charm."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald.  8 


i 
I 

: 
i 
i 
i 
: 
i 

B 


THE  PLEASURING  OF 
SUSAN  SMITH 


Helen  M.  Wiialow 

Author  of 
"Peggy  at  Spinster  Farm,"  etc. 

9 

Cloth    decorative,    illustrated  by  Jessie    Qillesple 
Net  $1.00,  postpaid  $1.10 


In  THE  PLEASURING  OF  SUSAN  SMITH  Miss 
Winslow  has  given  us  a  refreshing  little  story  without  any  of 
the  perplexing  problems  or  baffling  mysteries  of  the  usual  fic- 
tion of  the  day. 

The  story  is  original  in  plot,  bright  and  merry  in  spirit,  and 
full  of  kindly  humor  in  style  and  incident.  Amusing  experi- 
ences and  ludicrous  situations  are  encountered  from  the  begin- 
ning to  the  end. 

Susan  is  bright,  breezy  and  philosophical ;  but,  in  the  little 
country  town  where  she  was  brought  up,  she  never  had  the 
chance  to  show  her  adaptability.  When  the  opportunity 
arises  she  responds  in  a  way  that  will  prove  entertaining 
and  fascinating  to  the  reader. 
*• 

Of  the  author's  previous  book.  "  Peggy  at  Spinster  Farm."  the 
critics  have  commented  as  follows :  — 

"  It  is  an  alluring,  wholesome  tale."  —  Sckenectady  Star. 

"  Is  a  story  remarkably  interesting,  and  no  book  will  be  found  more  enter- 
taining than  this  one,  especially  for  those  who  enjoy  light-hearted  character 
sketches,  and  startling  and  unexpected  happenings."  —  Northampton 
Gazette. 

"An  exceptionally  well-written  book."  —  Milwaukee  Evening  Wis- 
consin. 

"  The  Spinster  and  Peggy  have  a  quiet  sense  of  humor  of  their  own  and 
they  convey  their  experiences  with  a  quaint  enjoyment  that  holds  us  irresist- 
ibly." —  The  Argonaut. 


T  H  E      HONEY      POT 

P|P      Or,  in  the  Garden  of  Lelita         §^ 
23[y  5\£orva/  Richardson 

Author  of 
"The  Lead  of  Honour,"  "George  Thome,"  etc. 


Cloth   decorative,    illustrated  by  Jessie    Qillespie 
Net  $1.  00;  postpaid  $1.15 


Mr.  Richardson's  new  novel  confirms  the  large  promise  of 
his  earlier  books.  His  latest  story  has  picturesque  Mexico 
for  a  setting,  and  is  a  charming  love-comedy  throughout. 

In  a  highly  entertaining  manner  the  author  relates  the  love 
story  of  a  captivating  Spanish  maiden  who  played  havoc  with 
the  trusting  hearts  of  three  Americans  —  bachelors  all  —  one 
just  in  his  salad  days,  another  "  hardened  "  at  thirty-three, 
and  still  another  of  forty  years. 

The  perplexing  situations  that  arise,  their  solution  and  the 
highly  dramatic  denouement  combine  to  make  this  a  fascina- 
ting romance. 


On  Mr.  Richardson's  previous  books  the  press  has  commented 
as  follows :  — 

"  A  story  of  much  more  than'Jusual  merit.  It  is  seldom  that  one  turns 
away  from  a  work  of  fiction  with  more  reluctance  to«part  company  with 
its  people  and  with  a  greater  impetus  towards  one's  own  best."  —  Boston 
Herald. 

"  This  is  a  tense  and  well  told  story,  enriched  by  abundant  incident  and 
vivid  characterization."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

"The  theme  is  not  a  common  one,  and  the  author  presents  it  in  a  very 
attractive  and  entertaining  form."  —  Peoria  Herald  Transcript, 

"  The  story  calls  upon  one's  feeling  and  upon  one's  thinking  and  calls  not 
in  vain."  —  Chicago  Inter-Ocean. 

"  Norval  Richardson  has  made  a  strong  story  which  embodies  a  most 
interesting  study  of  the  influences  of  physical  conditions  upon  the  mind."  — 
Boston  Literary  Ideas. 


THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP 

?j£  2Jj)  Jacob  Fisher  §^ 

1  2  mo,  cloth  decorative,  with  a  frontispiece  in  full  color 
Net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 

In  "THE  CRADLE  OF  THE  DEEP  "  we  have  a  strong 
human  story  that  relates  amid  intensely  dramatic  scenes  the 
experiences  of  a  Boston  girl,  Eleanor  Channing. 

Shipwrecked  in  the  Southern  Pacific,  on  her  way  to  Manila, 
she  is  rescued  by  the  second  officer,  John  Starbuck.  For 
months  they  are  separated  from  the  rest  of  the  world  on  an 
uncharted  island. 

Although  the  girl  fully  realizes  her  position  and  how  utterly 
dependent  she  is  upon  Starbuck  she  refuses  at  first  to  accept 
him  on  even  a  friendly  basis  ;  but  love  at  last  conquers,  and 
the  husk  of  convention  is  dropped  when  she  repays  Starbuck 
for  his  devotion. 

The  story  deals  with  strong  characters  and  calls  forth  cir- 
cumstances where  custom  counts  for  nothing. 


THE  CHRONICLES  OF  QUINCY 
ADAMS  SAWYER;  DETECTIVE 

^4b  Sp  Charles  Felton  Pidgin  JP^ 

Author  of 

"  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer,"  "  The  Further  Adventures  of 
Quincy  Adam*  Sawyer,"  etc. 

12mo.  cloth,  illustrated  by  Harold  /.  Cue 
Net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 

The  many  thousands  who  have  read  and  enjoyed  the  ex- 
periences of  QUINCY  ADAMS  SAWYER  in  Mr.  Pidgin's 
previous  books  will  give  a  hearty  welcome  to  the  new  volume. 
In  this  book  young  Quincy  Adams  Sawyer  establishes  an 
office  for  the  investigation  of  crime,  and  succeeds  in  unravel- 
ling a  series  of  startling  mysteries  which  have  baffled  the  city 
police. 


RAYTON:    A    Backwoods    Mystery 
Theodore  Qoodndge  Roberts    gjrc 


Author  of 
A  Captain  of  Raleigh's."  "Comrade*  of  the  Trail*,"  etc. 

Illustrated  by  John  Qost. 


Cloth  decorative,  net  $1.25;  postpaid  $1.40 

9 

Adventure,  the  exhilaration  of  outdoor  life  in  settlement 
and  wilderness,  mystery,  and  clear-cut,  appealing  character- 
ization are  combined  in  this  story  in  so  engrossing  and 
unusual  a  manner  that  we  feel  justified  in  recommending  it. 

The  scene  is  the  quiet  little  village  of  Samson's  Mill 
Settlement,  in  the  backwoods  of  New  Brunswick,  and  it  is 
around  the  Harleys,  the  most  important  family  in  the  vil- 
lage, that  the  story  centres.  The  Harleys  boast  of  a  family 
tradition.  Upon  three  instances  of  courtship  in  previous 
generations  the  receipt  of  a  playing  card  marked  with  three 
red  crosses  has  forerun  disaster. 

The  family  tradition  is  vividly  recalled  by  James  Harley 
when  David  Marsh,  a  prosperous  young  guide,  in  love  with 
Nell  Harley,  receives  a  card  marked  with  the  fatal  red  crosses 
during  a  game  of  poker  in  the  home  of  Rayton,  a  young 
Englishman  who  is  a  newcomer  in  the  settlement. 

True  to  the  old  tradition,  accidents,  misfortune  and  misun- 
derstandings follow  in  the  wake  of  the  fatal  card  until  the  en- 
tire village  is  puzzled  and  apprehensive.  Rayton  settles  down 
to  solve  the  mystery  and  at  last  finds  the  true  solution. 

• 

"  A*  a  clever  spinning  of  incident  out  of  homespun  materials,  it  must  win 
our  sincere  admiration;  as  a  novelty  in  tales  of  mystery  it  comes  with  a  pleas- 
!  v    ing  sense  of  surprise  and  suggests  a  new  kind  of  possibility  in  this  kind  of 
fiction.     It  is  sincerely  and  ably  written,  and  sustains  a  high  level  from  the 
first  page  to  the  last."  —  The  Boston  Herald. 


Selections  from 
L.  C.  Page  and  Company's 
List  of  Fiction 


WORKS  OF 

ROBERT  NEILSON  STEPHENS 

Each  one  vol.,  library  12mo,  doth  decorative         .        „      $1.50 

THE  FLIGHT  OF  GEORGIANA 

A  ROMANCE  OP  THE  DAYS  OF  THE  YOUNG  PRETENDER.  Illus- 
trated by  H.  C.  Edwards. 

"  A  love-story  in  the  highest  degree,  a  dashing  story,  and  a  re- 
markably well  finished  piece  of  work."  —  Chicago  Record-Herald. 

THE  BRIGHT  FACE  OF  DANGER 

Being  an  account  of  some  adventures  of  Henri  de  Launay,  son 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire.  Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
"  Mr.  Stephens  has  fairly  outdone  himself.  We  thank  him 

heartily.    The  story  is  nothing  if  not  spirited  and  entertaining, 

rational  and  convincing."  —  Boston  Transcript. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  MURRAY  DAVENPORT 

(40th  thousand.) 

"  This  is  easily  the  best  thing  that  Mr.  Stephens  has  yet  done. 
Those  familiar  with  his  other  novels  can  best  judge  the  measure 
of  this  praise,  which  is  generous."  —  Buffalo  News. 

CAPTAIN  RAVENSHAW 

OR,  THE  MAID  OP  CHEAPSIDE.  (52d  thousand.)  A  romance 
of  Elizabethan  London.  Illustrations  by  Howard  Pyle  and 
other  artists. 

Not  since  the  absorbing  adventures  of  D'Artagiian  have  we  had 
anything  so  good  in  the  blended  vein  of  romance  and  comedy. 

THE  CONTINENTAL  DRAGOON 

A  ROMANCE   OP  PHILIPSE  MANOR  HOUSE  IN  1778.     (63d 
thousand.)    Illustrated  by  H.  C.  Edwards. 
A  stirring  romance  of  the  Resolution,  with  its  scenes  laid  on 
oeutral  territory. 


L.   C.  PAGE   6-   COMPANY'S 


PHILIP  WINWOOD 

(70th  thousand.)  A  Sketch  of  the  Domestic  History  of  an 
American  Captain  in  the  War  of  Independence,  embracing 
events  that  occurred  between  and  during  the  years  1763  and 
1785  in  New  York  and  London.  Illustrated  by  E.  W.  D. 
Hamilton. 

AN  ENEMY  TO   THE  KING 

(70th  thousand.)  From  the  "  Recently  Discovered  Memoirs 
of  the  Sieur  de  la  Tournoire."  Illustrated  by  H.  De  M.  Young. 
An  historical  romance  of  the  sixteenth  century,  describing  the 

adventures  of  a  young  French  nobleman  at  the  court  of  Henry 

III.,  and  on  the  field  with  Henry  IV. 

THE  ROAD  TO  PARIS 

A  STORY  OP  ADVENTURE.  (35th  thousand.)  Illustrated  by 
H.  C.  Edwards. 

An  historical  romance  of  the  eighteenth  century,  being  an 
account  of  the  life  of  an  American  gentleman  adventurer. 

A  GENTLEMAN  PLAYER 

His  ADVENTURES  ON  A  SECRET  MISSION  FOR  QUEEN  ELIZA- 
BETH.    (48th  thousand.)     Illustrated  by  Frank  T.   Merrill. 
The  story  of  a  young  gentleman  who  joins  Shakespeare's 
company  of  players,  and  becomes  a  prote"g<§  of  the  great  poet. 

CLEMENTINA'S  HIGHWAYMAN 

Cloth  decorative,  illustrated $1 . 50 

The  story  is  laid  in  the  mid-Georgian  period.  It  is  a  dashing, 
sparkling,  vivacious  comedy,  with  a  heroine  as  lovely  and 
changeable  as  an  April  day,  and  a  hero  all  ardor  and  daring. 

TALES  FROM  BOHEMIA 

Illustrated  by  Wallace  Goldsmith. 

Cloth,  decorative  cover $1.50 

These  bright  and  clever  tales  deal  with  people  of  the  theatre 
and  odd  characters  in  other  walks  of  life  which  fringe  on  Bo- 
hemia. 

A  SOLDIER  OF  VALLEY  FORGE 

By  ROBERT  NHILSON  STEPHENS  AND  THEODORE  GOODRHXM: 
ROBERTS. 

Cloth  decorative,  with  frontispiece  in  full  color  from  a  paint- 
ing by  Frank  T.  Merrill  f$1.50 

"  The  plot  shows  invention  and  is  developed  with  originality, 
and  there  is  incident  in  abundance."  —  Brooklyn  Times. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 

This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


pLEAc|l  DO   NOT    REMOVE 
THIS   BOOK 


University  Researcrl  Library 


